


If I Had a Soul to Steal

by skeletonwrites



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: A lot - Freeform, AU, Absentia, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Attempted Murder, Character Death, Death, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Kidnapping, M/M, Marriage, Murder, Pain, Sexual Content, Smut, So much angst, Throne of Glass, Tragedy, absentia au, be ready to cry, so much pain, so much tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2020-01-04 05:11:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 37,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18336854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skeletonwrites/pseuds/skeletonwrites
Summary: Six years after his wife, Aelin Galathynius, goes missing, Rowan Whitethorn has finally settled back into a real life. He’s remarried, and his new wife treats his daughter as though she is her own. Everything has finally started to settle for him, the grief lessening despite never finding her body.Until he gets a call one night that changes everything.“Aelin Galathynius is alive, Rowan Whitethorn. But you’d better hurry. She doesn’t have long.”





	1. They Run, They Hide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh my love, with your light,   
> Make appear all I’ve lost in the night.  
> And love, with your fire, make return all of my heart’s desires  
> ‘Cause they run, they hide.   
> They Run, They Hide - Brolly

“Don’t go to work today,” she had murmured against his lips, doing everything in her power to seduce him back to bed like a siren luring a sailor into murky waters. He hummed against her lips, leaning over her perfect body. Rowan braced one hand on the bed beside her head, his other running down her side. Aelin’s fingers started to unbutton his shirt, and it was at that moment that he had to groan and pull away, leaving his wife with a pout on her foul, beautiful mouth.

“I wish I could stay home with you,” he sighed, dropping another kiss to her lips that was so quick she didn’t have time to suck him back down into her clutches. Aelin had been graced with an empty Saturday while Rowan had paperwork to wrap up from a case they’d closed two days ago.

“Will you at least come home early? Have dinner with me before Willow gets back from Gavriel and Aerin’s. I’ll…order takeout,” she laughed then, the sound bright and full of pure joy. It made Rowan’s heart swell and soar so much that he leaned down to kiss her again.

“I’ll be out of the office at four and back in your arms before five.” Aelin bit her lip and held up her pinky finger, the emerald on her left hand glistening in the early morning sunlight. He hooked his pinky around hers and pressed a final kiss to her lips. “I’m so godsdamn in love with you.”

“I love you the same,” she had replied, grinning widely at him as she lay her head back down on her pillows, settling to go back to sleep.

It was the last memory that Rowan Whitethorn had of his wife, the last memory before he had come home to his house destroyed and his life flipped upside down, torn and cleaned apart in the most unfathomable of ways. It was the daydream that plagued reality, the nightmare that lurked behind closed eyelids.

“I love you the same,” he could hear her saying it as clear as day, echoing between his ears as though she was saying it just then, as his eyes flew open and he gasped for air, grasped for her body on the other side of the bed. He found a warm body next to him, but it wasn’t Aelin. It would never be Aelin again.

-

Rowan hadn’t heard from his wife all day, which was a far cry from usual, but at some point he figured she was buried deep beneath their duvet catching up on the sleep she so desperately needed. Being in the FBI was no small feat, especially when they hunted down murderers for a living. It could be exhausting, especially when the cases became all consuming and ate up the majority of their time, nibbling away at the hours meant for sleep with midnight steak outs to monitor a person’s movements.

Everything looked normal when he got home. Aelin’s car was still parked in the garage, her keys, purse, and badge lay on the bar in the kitchen where she dropped things out of habit. Nothing was out of place, everything was fine, until he got to their bedroom.

There was blood everywhere, all over the bedding, the carpet. That was when his blood had turned cold, the sight of all that blood. It looked like he had wandered into one of his crime scenes rather than his home. A roaring had began in his ears, his heartbeat was thundering as he immediately fumbled for his phone. He began shouting her name as he stumbled through their room, phone pressed between his ear and shoulder, gun cocked and loaded in his hands as he shifted through the bedroom, their bathroom. Aelin was nowhere, but he didn’t stop yelling for her as he searched the rest of the house. It was all clear – no intruder, no Aelin.

Lamps were overturned in the bedroom, feathers were red and sticky with blood from wide slices that had been made in the down feather duvet. Boot prints of blood tracked through the bathroom and over the carpet of the bedroom, but there was no blood anywhere else in their house. Rowan made his way back to the kitchen, unable to breathe, bracing his hands on the counter as black nipped at the edges of his vision, everything going cloudy as his chest heaved.

Later, Fenrys would tell their boss he’d never heard a sound like the raw, animalistic howling and screaming that Rowan was making when they arrived. He’d never seen his friend curled up in pain like he was when they walked into the house and found him with his head between his knees, rocking back and forth like he couldn’t handle sitting still. How the sounds didn’t cease until the paramedics came and administered diazepam to still his quaking nerves.

His friends briefed him, asking him a long list of questions. When had he last seen her? This morning at 7:29. When had he last heard from her? Last text was received at 9:41 AM, reading _Will you bring home hazelnut truffles? I’ll love you forever._  
He had responded, _You’ll love me forever anyway, but yes. I’ll bring you so many truffles you won’t know what to do with yourself_ at 9:46 AM.  
Aelin hadn’t texted back to that, but he’d figured she had just drifted back to sleep. She loved her sleep, was a grumbly person when she didn’t get enough of it, and she deserved all the rest she could get, so he hadn’t bothered her the rest of the day. But maybe he should have. Maybe he should have called her on his lunch break when he missed her, maybe he should have called to check on her when he was leaving the office. Maybe it would have been enough, or maybe it wouldn’t. But maybe he still should have tried.

What was she last seen wearing? Black lace panties and his large white t-shirt. Did she have any plans for the day? Not that he was aware of. Who was the last person he knew she spoke with aside from himself? Aerin or Gavriel when they told Willow goodnight over the phone last night. Was anything unusual about the morning? No. It had been the same as so many other mornings where she wanted to leech his warmth when he had to go to work and she was staying home.

Nothing was unusual. Nothing was out of place. He didn’t notice anything weird when he left the house. He hadn’t noticed any unusual cars driving by or parked outside, in fact he had waved at one of his neighbors across the street as they retrieved their morning paper. Everything was painfully normal. Aelin had been happy, bubbly even. Excited for more alone time before Willow was brought home later in the night. His wife had been taken from him and he couldn’t even provide any bit of useful information. If he had just stayed home when she asked, done the paperwork on Monday. If he had been home there’s no way in hell anyone would have been able to take her.

They had found her gun under the bed, the trigger covered in her blood as though she had struggled to be able to make a shot before it had been knocked from her grip. If he had been home she wouldn’t have been bleeding at all. If he had been home, their duvet would still be white, not splattered in red. If Rowan had just stayed home when she asked, she would be laughing beneath his body as he playfully grazed his teeth along her throat, her hair would be tangled in his fingers as he tugged on the roots while he made love to her. If he had just been home. If. If. If. But he hadn’t been. He’d been signing off papers with a blue ink pen while the red ink of his wife’s veins was spilled all over their room.

  
-

Blood had been found in the bath tub around the cold metal of the drain and down it’s gaping mouth. They also discovered bleach, and everyone found it curious that the tub had been washed, along with the bathroom floor, but the bedroom was demolished and in ruins. There had been no effort to conceal what had happened in the bedroom. There was no effort to hide the destruction that had likely come to Aelin Whitethorn Galathynius’ body. It fit the M.O. of someone that she had been hunting for two years, of one of the vilest serial killers that Erilea had ever seen. In every one of the murders that they had suspected Maeve Thornbriar of, the initial site of abduction was torn apart, the scene full of blood, but it so seldom reflected such a struggle being put up. Perhaps because her usual victims didn’t know how to fight back the way that Aelin did. They all hoped, as they combed through the scene, that mistakes had been made, that evidence had been left behind where they’d never found any before.

Rowan sat outside, face blank and eyes empty, while his friends in the bureau raked through his home looking for anything, anything at all to link Maeve to the crime so they could bring her in. Up until this point, everything had been circumstantial, but they all seemed more determined than ever to get her with solid evidence to be able to find Aelin, bring her home, and lock Maeve away until her body began to rot to dust. He would find it. Whatever evidence there was to put her away, Rowan would find it, and he would find his wife, and he would bring her home.

-

**EIGHT MONTHS LATER**

Rowan was sitting in an empty conference room at the bureau, face in his hands as he waited for the director to come in and deliver whatever news they had. For eight months they had no leads on Aelin. No sign of her, no sign of her body. For eight months he had fallen asleep and woken up to nightmares of what their room had looked like. For eight months he had slept in a new, foreign apartment, their daughter tucked into his side, unable to sleep truly well if he couldn’t see that she was okay. Eight months of the tiny three year old crying for her mommy, her eyes bright and turquoise like her mother’s, lined with silver tears. Sometimes it hurt to look at her. Willow was beautiful, had always looked like Aelin, but now it became more and more difficult to look into her Ashryver eyes.

“Rowan.”

He looked up from where he sat, eyes bloodshot and tired from the nightmares that had so heavily hung on his shoulders all week. Nightmares of Aelin covered in blood, of Aelin with glassy eyes that stared at nothing, of Aelin with her mouth carved into a permanent smile. Fenrys, one of his best friends at work and out of it, sat down in the chair next to him; the director of the FBI sat at the end of the table, Lorcan taking up his other side. Rowan swallowed, glancing from face to face, feeling his heart sink in his chest.

“The M.O. that we have associated with Maeve… her victims and their skin—” Fenrys stopped himself, glancing over at Lorcan. It was only known within the bureau, but for all the victims of Maeve’s that they had found, they had extensive lacerations on their backs, long pieces of skin cut out to be something of a trophy. Rowan swiped his thumb over his bottom lip.

“What does that have to do with Aelin?” His voice was raw and hoarse, and he rubbed at his eyes roughly as they began to sting. They wouldn’t tell him what he didn’t want to hear. They wouldn’t tell him what he couldn’t stand to hear.

“Rowan… we found… the DNA matches,” Fenrys said softly, tapping the top of the folder in front of him.

Rowan jerked the blue folder from his hands, flipping it open and almost immediately slamming it shut and launching it into the wall. His hands balled up into fists so hard that his fingernails pierced his skin. When he stood from his chair, his movement was so quick and aggressive that his chair flipped over behind him, slamming into and denting the drywall. Rowan slammed his hands down on the glass conference table, and he realized that the roaring sound he heard was him, screaming at every indication that his wife was dead. It wasn’t until he noticed the water dripping onto the table, little puddles forming all over like a constellation, that he even knew he was crying.

“Whitethorn, I’m so sorry, but we’re… we’re treating this as a homicide investigation,” Lorcan spoke softly beside him, which made everything feel more bizarre. More bizarre and painful, because nothing about Lorcan Salvaterre had ever been soft.

Rowan shoved away from the table and threw the door open so hard it cracked the glass wall it was attached to and he stormed out, out into the street, into the blistering cold air where he struggled to breathe, struggled to form coherent thoughts.

If they were treating it as a homicide investigation, it meant that they all whole-heartedly believed that Aelin was dead.


	2. Bruise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every space I have to hide  
> Is tethered to you   
> And my demons alike  
> Bruise - Former Vandal

Before, it was the color of love; the pale shade of their daughter’s skin when she was pulled from her mother’s womb, the sound of her cry piercing the air. It was the color of the raspberries her parents blew against her belly, of the laughter that ensued soon after from all three of them. It was the color of her fingertips in the cold, her rosy cheeks. It was the color of the peacoat she wore in the winter, of the bow in her hair. It was all the winter chill left behind when it nipped at her nose.

Before, it had been a color of passion. It was the color her cheeks that flushed while she writhed beneath him. It was the color of her lips when he took her on a date, glossy and wanting. The color of the prints she left behind as she kissed down his chest. It was the color of her fingernails, freshly filed and sharpened. The color of the marks that lined his back while she came undone around him, his name a breathy sound that fell from her lips like rubies.

After, it became the color of terror. It was the rawness in his throat as he screamed her name, pushing his way through their home. It was the color of the feathers that had filled their pillows, their comforter, as their once fluffy edges stiffened and dried into dull peaks. It was the color of the shoe prints in the carpet; it was the puddles that collected on the duvet.

After, it was fear. It was the color that rippled across his vision, it was the panic that filled his lungs. It was the voice inside his head, the sound he never knew himself capable of making until his wife had been taken from him.

It was surely the color of her blood-stained hair. It was surely the color of the blade that had pierced her skin, surely the color that trickled down her arms, her face, her abdomen, or her thighs. It was surely the color of her own panic, the color of her own voice as she screamed for help. It was surely the color of the murderer’s hands, sticky and hot beneath black gloves.

It was the color of the dress that Maeve Thornbriar had chosen to wear on the last day of trial. Her dark hair tumbled down her back in waves, her spider’s smile a sickly color red. Rowan found himself unable to pull his eyes from the ruby toned fabric that hung on her body, wondering if the shirt he’d last seen Aelin in was now nothing more than a reddish-brown stain.

Aelin. His beautiful, vibrant wife, declared dead in Absentia. Never again would he feel the slip of her silky, golden hair. He’d never hear her laughter outside of videos, would never feel her warm lips pressed to his skin. The ache that continued to build in his chest, that cleaved him in two, kept rising the way a wave does just before it crests and crashes down. The current dragged him under as the guilty verdict was read, and Maeve’s eyes found Rowan’s from across the room.

Aedion Ashryver pulled him into a hug, letting out a deep sob into his shoulder. They had won this battle, but all Rowan wanted was to know where the bitch had left his wife. Where she was, what kind of conditions they had left her to rot in. His jaw clenched as Aedion pulled away, and Rowan forced himself to look into his eyes, into Aelin’s eyes. Looking at Aedion was painful because he was the other side of Aelin’s coin, they shared so many of the same beautiful features, but their eyes, the color of their hair always struck him the hardest.

Rowan nodded to Aedion then moved passed him, following the guard detail that held Maeve in their custody. He followed them down the long, marble hallway of the courthouse, moving to a jog as he reached the end of the hall. Maeve heard his footsteps and turned, glossy hair falling over her shoulder. The satisfaction of seeing her in cuffs wasn’t enough. It never would be.

“Where is my wife? What did you do with her? Where is MY WIFE?” He was screaming, trying to push passed the guards that held him, unable to break completely free. “Where is she?” His voice was broken, defeated. It had been one year and two months. He just wanted to know where she was. Rowan just wanted to give her the proper burial she deserved.

“I’m so sorry,” that red mouth said, the voice as cold as ice, no remorse at all laced through its words. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Rowan Whitethorn.” And then the guards were yanking at her chains, pulling her out the door, the sunlight blinding him for a moment. The only color he could see was red.

-

Having a funeral without a body was an odd experience. The casket was left open and everyone she knew, everyone that had loved her, left her notes, stuffed animals, a handful of people even left her favorite snacks. Not that it mattered; she would never squeeze the plush bellies of the stuffed bears, she would never taste another chocolate hazelnut truffle, she would never read those notes, those letters – but it comforted Rowan and the rest of her family to some degree. Aelin had been so widely loved by so many people, so admired. She was a bright flame, a wildfire, a force to be reckoned with, and as Rowan cried over her empty casket, he told her as much. She was the brightest part of his life and always would be. Nothing would ever come close to touching the years he had with her, nothing would ever compare to the time that he had been able to call her his wife.

“Fireheart,” he whispered, thumb brushing over the dark mahogany of her casket before it was lowered into the ground. He stood and watched until it disappeared into the ground, until the hole was filled with enough dirt that he couldn’t see the difference in soil and wood, until the sun was at high noon in the sky and burning down his neck. And only then did he walk away, visions of his wife’s decaying body trapped in his mind.

-

Blood was dripping from the ceiling. Dripping from the ceiling fan, oozing down the walls. The once white duvet was now soaked in red, warm but sticky beneath his hands.

“Aelin,” he gasped, grabbing her by the shoulders and rolling her over. His hands left bloody prints on her biceps, and her head lulled to the side in an unnatural way. Aelin’s turquoise and gold eyes stared blankly up at him, all light gone. The color of them seemed somehow desaturated, as though her inner light flickering out sucked the brilliance out of them. Her lips were painted red, but it wasn’t lipstick – it was just blood. The white t-shirt she wore was soaked with blood, slices down her body indicating where exactly the wounds had been carved to cause such a gruesome scene.

And then her red mouth was curling into a Cheshire cat’s smile, wide and somehow beyond what was natural, all of her teeth showing as his name dropped from her tongue. He scrambled back, back, back until he was falling off the bed and –

Rowan gasped as he hit the floor, the early morning sun drifting through the window. He was breathing heavily, chest heaving and heart thundering as an earth-shattering sob broke free from its cages.

The duvet was black, just as it had been since Lysandra had bought him a new one when he got the little apartment. The walls were still a light beige, the ceiling white. Nothing dripped or oozed, and the bed was empty. But he couldn’t stop thinking about how she had looked in that dream, how vividly real it had felt.

His cheeks were wet with tears as he dropped his head between his knees, willing his breathing to slow, willing the panic to pass. He felt eaten away, felt adrift, felt like nothing in the world even mattered anymore. Rowan roughly rubbed his hands over his head then leaned his head back against the wall, legs dropping to extend out in front of him. He was exhausted – hardly getting sleep anymore because when he did, he was shaken from his slumber by nightmares such as these. Nightmares in which he found his bloody and mangled wife in their bed. Sometimes it was memories he dreamed up, the last morning he’d seen her or their engagement, their wedding, the birth of their daughter. Rowan couldn’t decide which was worse.

Pushing himself to his feet, he made his way out his room and into the second bedroom, wiping at his face as he did so. When he slipped inside, he sat on the floor next to the tiny bed, his large hand running down the silver hair of his sleeping little girl. Willow was his only comfort, the only reason he hadn’t shot himself with his government issued gun at this point. She was the only thing that kept him hanging on, albeit by a very thin and waning thread, but he would hang on for her. It’s what Aelin would have wanted.

-

  
The waitress set their food down before them, smiling widely at the two men as she tucked her hands into the pockets of her apron.

“Can I get you guys anything else?” She asked, her voice carrying a lilting kind of accent. Rowan offered her a tight smile and shook his head once.

“No, thank you.” The girl nodded, her brunette curls bouncing as she turned on her heel and walked back toward the counter. Fenrys watched her for a moment as Rowan dug straight into his burger.

“She’s pretty,” Fenrys said, looking back at his companion. Rowan glanced at the girl, then back at Fenrys.

“I guess?”

“I’m just saying that no one would blame you if—” the look that Rowan shot him was pure daggers, pure fire, pure fury. It was enough to make him take a bite of his own good to shut himself up, but not for nearly long enough, because around a mouth full of food he added, “It’s been three years.”

“I know how godsdamn long it’s been,” Rowan said tensely, voice more like a sense than anything. He knew how long it had been better than anybody.

“She would want you to be happy, Ro. That’s…that’s all I’m saying.”

Rowan didn’t say anything, just shifted his gaze to stare out the window. He willed the burning that pricked at his eyes to stop, but it didn’t, and soon he found himself wiping damp cheeks.

“I miss her,” he said softly. “I miss her so much every day that I can’t…I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I just. I have the nightmares and they’re fucking terrible but then the dreams? The dreams of our last morning or the ones my mind just makes up feel so real, Fen. And I wake up and she isn’t really there and it’s just like finding out all over again.” His eyes followed a car that drove down the street, the reflection of the sun burning his eyes more but he couldn’t look away, couldn’t shift his eyes back to his friend until it was out of sight. “The good ones just have me hoping she’s going to walk in through the door and smile at me, ask me why I’m so upset. I can… feel her lips on my skin, I can hear her voice so clearly that sometimes it feels like she’s what’s waking me up but her side of the bed is cold. Three years Fen. Aelin was everything and now she’s just gone and I don’t even know where her fucking body is.”

“I’m sorry, Rowan. Fuck, I’m sorry.” It was all he could offer his friend, an apology that wouldn’t do anything, wouldn’t heal anything. It wouldn’t even be a satisfactory band-aid, it wouldn’t help heal. Rowan nodded, wiping his face with his hand and reaching for another bite of his food. He didn’t say another word for the rest of the meal.

-

“Can I please have a piece of pie? Please, daddy! Please!” Her little voice was as sweet as the dessert she was requesting, her eyes bright like fire. Rowan couldn’t help but smile and drop a kiss onto her head before he conceded, sliding into the booth across from Willow. Her silvery hair was pulled up into two high pigtails – a favorite look for the six year old as of late.

Willow was the perfect combination of Aelin of and Rowan – his hair and nose with Aelin’s eyes, lips, and general face shape. When she furrowed her brow, she couldn’t look more like Rowan if she tried, and when she set her jaw and put her hands on her hips, well, that was all Aelin. Willow could be stubborn, much like her mother, but she was so funny and carefree that it often made his heart ache that Aelin never got to see her as she was now.

“What can I get for you guys today?” The waitress asked, one hand on her hip. Rowan opened his mouth to speak, but Willow beat him to the punch, leaning forward on her elbows, a wide smile showing her missing front teeth.

“Chocolate pie, please!” She squealed, much to Rowan’s surprise. Willow hardly talked to anyone but him, family, and Fenrys. She usually hid behind Rowan, timid and shy.

“Chicken strips and French fries first, and then chocolate pie,” he confirmed, then ordered his own food, watching the way that Willow stood in the booth and touched the waitress’ curls.

“Willow, sit down, please.”

“But her hair is so pretty,” her little voice was full of awe. The waitress merely smiled, shrugging a shoulder at Rowan.

“So is yours, love,” she winked and walked toward the counter, leaving Willow to drop into the booth across from her father. Willow folded her knees under her body and leaned forward on her elbows again, leveling her stare with Rowan.

“Will you tell me a story about mommy?” She asked, her little chin resting in her hand, pink fingernails on display. Rowan’s brows raised slightly, but he nodded, leaning forward to kiss her nose.

“Which one?” Willow tapped her little finger against her lips as she thought. It took a moment, but soon her eyes illuminated and widened, her mind made up.

“When you met!” She said it so loud that Rowan couldn’t help but laugh a little, her excitement crystal clear in her sweet voice.

“When I first met your mother, we were at a Christmas party for work,” he began, a small smile creeping over his lips.

The music was loud and merry, the giant Christmas tree in the center of the room casting a stunning glow all over the loft space. You wouldn’t think you had stepped into the center of an FBI Christmas party had you wandered in. Everyone was dressed up, tuxedos and gowns of every color while they all danced and talked over sips of champagne. Rowan stood in the corner with Fenrys and Lorcan under twinkle lights that gave the ceiling a starry effect. The lights reflected off the thick glass of their tumblers, creating a small universe in the amber colored liquid. Rowan took a sip, eyes skimming the crowd when he noticed a golden blonde making her way toward them.

She stopped in front of Rowan, a single hand on her hip, one foot in front of the other. She was beautiful – possibly the most beautiful woman Rowan had ever laid his eyes on. Her long, golden hair was in the kind of waves that old movie stars wore, a crown of stars atop her head. The dress she wore was floor length and simple, and emerald green velvet number that pooled slightly at her feet. The straps were thin over her shoulders, she must have checked a coat when she got here.

“Whitethorn?” She pointed at him with a red fingernail, glancing up at him beneath thick lashes. Her lips were a glossy red. This woman was a Christmas Angel if he’d ever seen one.

“Indeed,” he nodded, drawing in another sip of whiskey.

“Aelin Galathynius,” she extended her hand to him, which he shook firmly. She nodded appreciatively and turned to his companions, shaking their hands as well. “If I’m right, which I am, I’m your new partner.” Realization dawned on his face, and he set his empty glass down on the table beside him.

“The rookie.”

“Top of my class in the academy, my father-“

“Is a legend,” Fenrys interrupted, holding out his elbow for her. “Would you like to dance with me?” Aelin grinned widely but shook her head, nodding at Rowan.

“I think I want to dance with this one,” she said, tugging on the lapel of his jacket. Rowan furrowed his brow slightly, but smiled, running his tongue and then his teeth over his bottom lip. Nobody ever turned down Fenrys for anything.

“Why?” He asked her, glancing down at her hand that ran down his arm. Aelin merely smiled wider, eyes and nose crinkling in the slightest as she shrugged.

“Why not?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lmk what you think // if you have any theories! Also sorry for the fact that the memory isn’t italicized I’m having technical difficulty I’m sorry I’ll fix it later


	3. Don’t You Cry For Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, got my hands tied around my back  
> And time put a rope around my head  
> And hung from the rafters of my fear  
> Dark in the eyes  
> Try and face the world, I can’t bear to  
> My knees hit the ground and my hands start shaking  
> Old feelings from new faces  
> A rope on the floor and a poor man hanging

FOUR YEARS AGO

  
“Lyria?” Rowan approached the counter almost hesitantly, fingers tapping against his thigh in a nervous tick. The waitress looked up, curls bouncing and brown eyes bright. She really was pretty, beautiful even. Behind him, Willow, age seven, was twirling in circles in the middle of the aisle, giggling when she bumped into her father.

“What can I do for you, Rowan?”

“I was um. I was wondering if you’d let me take you to dinner sometime,” he said, meeting her gaze. His hands rested against the counter, all of them drumming anxiously. A metallic click had Lyria’s eyes glancing down, her eyes falling on the golden wedding band on his left hand. Her lips formed a thin line as she looked back up at his face.

“You’re married.”

“I-” Rowan followed her gaze and shifted his weight on his feet. “My wife…she is dead.”

“Shit. I’m so sorry, I had no idea,” Lyria swallowed, shoving her hands into her apron. On the other side of the diner, someone gestured for her, but she met his eyes one more time before she moved passed him toward the patron. “Yes. Yes I’d like to go to dinner with you.” She offered him a small smile before approaching the table, the grin on her face not faltering for hours.

-

PRESENT DAY.

It was late when Rowan finally got home from work. The first thing he noticed upon getting home where the three bouquets of flowers that they would place on Aelin’s grave tomorrow. One from him, one from Lyria, and one from Willow. Lyria was standing by the kitchen sink, washing dishes from dinner, a plate full of food covered in plastic wrap and waiting on the stove.

Rowan dropped a kiss on her cheek and unwrapped the plate, sticking it in the microwave to warm up. Leaning against the counter, he brushed her hair over her shoulder and nodded toward the flowers as she dried her hands.

“Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me. I wanted to make sure everything was ready for tomorrow so it’s easy and we didn’t have to run around in the morning or anything. Willow was adamant about the Kingsflame. She cried when the first florist didn’t have any and refused to pick anything else,” Lyria said, pulling her brown curls up into a messy bun atop her head.

“It was her favorite,” Rowan sighed. “They say it first bloomed when the first Galathynius took the throne of Terrasen. She loved her family’s history.”

“How far removed was she?” Rowan looked up at his wife of nearly a year, shaking his head.

“Not at all. She was direct. If the Monarchy was still a thing in Terrasen, she would have been Queen by now. It dissipated before her father was born. Willow had started to call Aelin ‘Princess Mommy’ and for six solid months she only answered to Princess Willow. It was unreal,” Rowan was grinning, the smile reaching his eyes for once. Everything about the day usually sucked him dry, sucked all the happiness and positive emotion out of him. It was the one day every year that he was didn’t put on a show, he didn’t pretend. He didn’t act like he had everything together, he let himself mourn the love of his life, even now, seven years later.

Aelin flooded his thoughts, and his smile faltered and faded, eyes fluttering closed. Sometimes, with his eyes closed and mind wandering, he could almost smell her perfume or the jasmine scent of her shampoo. He could still feel her lips against his ear as she leaned up on her toes to whisper something to him at work, mouth spread wide in a smile that made his knees buckle.

When Lyria’s hands wrapped around his waist, he opened his eyes and ran his hand down her back. She gazed up at him, eyes clear and bright, and he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“We should get ready for bed,” he murmured against her skin, food long forgotten in the microwave as his appetite dwindled away to nothing.

-

Rowan was pulled from his sleep by his phone buzzing and ringing violently on the nightstand. He shifted, reaching over Lyria, her dark hair splayed over his arm. It was a bit after four in the morning, the number blocked, which was reason enough to not take the call, but accepted it anyway, just in case.

“Whitethorn,” he grumbled into the receiver, sitting up and running his hand down his face. Beside him, Lyria stirred from sleep, reaching for one of his hands.

“Hello, Rowan.” The voice made his blood stop, made his body freeze completely over. “Are you enjoying married life again?” The voice laughed, a singsong sound that made the blood in his ears roar. Maeve Maeve Maeve Maeve Maeve. “You have one hour. One hour if she’s as tough as you think she is. One hour before she dies, maybe minutes more.” Seven years. It had been Seven years. This couldn’t be about Aelin. It couldn’t be. She was dead. Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius was Dead.

“Who are you tal-"

“Aelin is alive, Rowan Whitethorn, but you’d better hurry before her time runs out for good. She doesn’t have long.” The line went dead, but Rowan was already on his feet, shoving his legs into pants, pulling a shirt on as he rushed through his bedroom, through the house.

“Rowan?” Lyria was sitting up in bed, watching him in confusion as he rushed through the room, shoving his feet into socks and shoes, aggressively sticking his badge into his pocket. He grabbed his weapons, heart thundering away in his chest, tears pricking his eyes. He paused only to look at his phone again, hands violently shaking as a text with an address came through. “Who was it? What’s going on?”

But he didn’t answer, he just kept moving, running out of the house to his car. Lyria was running after him, shouting his name as he slammed the car door shut and threw it in reverse. Rowan didn’t even bother looking in the rear view as he sped away, slamming on his lights and calling it in, hurriedly giving the dispatch operator his information and the address he’d been sent.

His body was in autopilot, his mind unable to process anything. It had been seven years. Six since she had been declared dead, since they had found the skin that matched her DNA. Six years since he had stopped looking for her. He never should have stopped looking. If Rowan managed to find Aelin alive he would never forgive himself for having stopped looking for her. In fact, she may not forgive him for it either, and if that was the price to pay for her safety he would let her hate him until he died, he deserved as much.

Aelin. Aelin. Aelin. Aelin. Aelin. The love of his life, the mother of his child. He pressed down on the gas harder, pushing the car to go faster, swerving in and out of traffic, not bothering to slow for stop lights and stop signs. Not that it mattered if he did, with his lights on he was a federal agent in pursuit.

The address was just under an hour away, and when he got there, his team was already assembled at the edge of the road. The car had barely come to a stop when he threw it in park and rushed out to Fenrys, who nodded toward the woods.

“There’s a cabin two hundred meters in,” he said, and Rowan merely nodded, pulling on a bulletproof vest and buckling it down as he broke into a run. His team was yelling after him, but nothing could stop him from finding her. If she was alive – God’s above what if she was alive?

Drawing his gun just outside the front door, he jiggle the knob gently, then twisted, letting the door swing open on its own. He couldn’t tell if it was good or bad that the door was left unlocked, couldn’t let himself think about what horrors were potentially waiting for him if she’d been unable to walk out of an unlocked door. He cleared the opening room, then the rooms around and they were all empty. Rowan swore, running his hand over his face and looking around, looking anywhere for where she could be hidden.

And then he noticed a faint glow coming from the floor boards – a bluish green glow from beneath that had him tearing through, jerking and jerking at the wood until the nails popped free and the board came loose in his hands. Hidden under the floor he could see a massive tank clearly full of water that gave off the ominous glow.

“DOWN HERE,” he yelled, fingers ripping into the wood so hard that his nails broke and bled into the wood, but he didn’t care, didn’t notice the pain or the red that dripped from his fingertips. He didn’t even care how far down the drop was into that underground space; as soon as enough boards were pulled away, he dropped down, ankles and knees screaming in pain at the impact. It didn’t matter though, not when he could make out a body in the full tank, not when the body had golden hair and scars up and her back.

Rowan was on the other side of the water tank immediately, hands against the tank. Her eyes were open and frantic as she pressed her hand to glass, lips mouthing his name.

“Hold on, Aelin,” he grit out, eyes raking over the tank. It was locked with a dead bolt that required a code. Fuck. Maeve hadn’t given him a code, hadn’t hinted at a code. He ran his hands through his hair aggressively, tugging on the ends as though it would pull a memory to the surface. Maybe this was his punishment, having to watch her drown before his eyes, knowing he stopped looking for her and she had been alive the entire time.

Rowan’s team of agents filtered into the space, but he couldn’t hear a single thing. He couldn’t hear the orders Lorcan shouted, couldn’t hear whatever it was Fenrys said into his ear. A three number code was required. Three numbers stood between him and Aelin. Three numbers. Three numbers. Three- Rowan glanced at the time. 5:23 AM. He got the call an hour ago at –

“Son of a bitch,” he sputtered, just as Aelin started hitting the glass frantically, so hard he could feel the vibration of the thick glass. His fingers shook as he rotated the numbers around, his heart leaping into his throat as he watched her suck in her first lungful of water, and then she was coughing, choking, drowning –

The lock clicked and he threw it behind him, shoving the tank door up. Lorcan and Fenrys held the lid open, one of Aelin’s hands emerging from the slightly murky water to grip the edge of the basin. Rowan didn’t hesitate as he gripped Aelin under her arms and pulled her from the water, up and over the side of the tank and to his chest. Her mouth was open and gasping for air, eyes wide and panicked. She coughed, water lurching from her lungs as she clung to him so hard her nails were littering crescents over his back. She held him with a bruising intensity she didn’t look currently capable of as she continued to cough up water all over Rowan, but his grip didn’t falter. Not when his hands felt the new, unfamiliar scarring over her back, not as he registered that her hair was shorter than it had been before, not as EMTs rushed forward to wrap a blanket around her half naked form. He collapsed to the ground as everyone rushed to tend to her, but he held her body to his tighter still as her fingers weakly gripped his shirt, the back of his neck.

“I’ve got you, love,” he said into the crook of her neck, breath warming her skin that was still cool from the water. His hand tangled in her soaking wet hair, water soaking through his clothes, chilling his own skin, but the relief of having her in his arms again was enough to warm him. “I’ve got you.”

“Ro,” she said hoarsely, her own fingers twisting into his silver hair briefly before her half-emaciated body went completely limp in his arms.

-

It had been four hours since they had rescued her, since Rowan had pulled her out of that damn tank. He sat with his head in his hands, staring at the ugly tan flooring. Fenrys had been kind enough to bring him a breakfast burrito and water, which he ate gratefully. He was just about to push himself to his feet and ask about her again when someone beat him to the punch, approaching him instead.

“Mr. Whitethorn?” She asked, her head tilted slightly in question.

“Is she okay?”

“There’s been an incident. Your wife woke up, but as she didn’t recognize her surroundings and she’s likely been through so much trauma, she was in fight or flight mode. Someone posing as a nurse, likely to get a story, snuck into her room and your wife stabbed him in the neck with an ink pen. He’s fine and bandaged up, but we wanted to let you know,” the nurse explained. Rowan almost grinned because it was such an Aelin thing to do. She’d improvised many times when she was undercover and without weapons.

“Are they pressing charges?” He asked, happy that Aelin had even been awake.

“No, no. I’m sure you know you’re able to press charges if you’d like to. However, we did have to sedate your wife to calm her down. We’ll let you know when she’s awake.” Rowan merely nodded and thanked the nurse as he dropped back down into his chair. Fenrys sat down beside him, shaking his head.

“At least we know her impulse is still at one hundred percent,” he joked. Rowan even smiled a little, glancing over at his friend, but something in him broke and he let out a choked sob as he ducked his head down into his hands.

“I stopped looking,” he breathed, doing his best to regulate each inhale and exhale. Fenrys dropped his hand onto Rowan’s back, unable to do anything else to comfort him except be there, except let him work out his own mistakes in his own way.

“She’ll understand, Rowan.”

“What if she doesn’t?” Rowan looked at Fenrys then, eyes bloodshot, cheeks flushed and wet. “What if she doesn’t understand?” Fenrys bit his lip, chewing on it anxiously, because he didn’t have anything to offer Rowan for the alternative, so he merely watched as his friend dropped his head between his knees, Fen’s hand a constant, solid force on his back as he grieved.

 


	4. Rescue My Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lying to myself I can make it on my own  
> Making it alone is lonely  
> Twisting and I'm turning  
> Oh I'm crashing and I'm burning  
> Rescue My Heart - Liz Longley

Another hour passed before they got any news. It was an hour of Rowan pacing the halls, staring at a blank text message to Lyria, wondering what the hell he was going to say to her when he went home later. When the doctor, a psychiatrist, finally came out to talk to him, he was wringing his hands so hard they were bright red.

“She’s awake, very groggy still from the sedation, but she is awake. You can see her now,” Rowan was already moving before he’d finished his sentence, walking quickly to her room. He paused for a moment in the door, taking a deep breath. It was a moment he had been waiting for, dreaming of, for seven years. And then he stepped around the corner to where she lay in her bed, hooked up to monitors and IVs, and he could have collapsed. Sure, he had held her in his arms mere hours ago, but now he was seeing her, really seeing her, and she was real.

“Aelin,” he breathed her name like a prayer as he sat on the edge of the bed, hand smoothing her hair. She opened her eyes but they rolled back in her head slightly as she struggled against the sedative. Aelin lifted her hand painfully slowly to touch his hand that rest against her face.

“Rowan.” Her voice was low and hoarse, raw from the near drowning. It came out more like a whisper. He might not have heard her if the machine had beeped at the same time she spoke, but the movement of her lips was unmistakable. For the first time in seven years he heard her say his name, and his heart healed and broke all at once. “Willow?” Her brow furrowed, fingers pressing weakly into his hand.

“She’s perfect. Gods above, she looks just like you but she still has my hair,” he huffed a laugh, eyes filling with tears as he fumbled for his phone, hating that he had to let go of her hand to do so. A ghost of a smile appeared on her face as she watched him, turquoise and gold eyes not quite as bright. The fire was missing from them, but he told himself it would come back when the medication faded.

When he turned the phone to Aelin, her brow furrowed all over again, eyes taking in the ten year old on the screen. Her face said that it couldn’t be her daughter, her three year old, but her eyes recognized her young face. She did look just like Aelin, eyes as wild and bright as her mothers always had been, and Gods was she beautiful, her silver hair long and flowing the way Aelin’s always had been.

“How long?” She croaked, handing the phone back to Rowan. Tears slipped from her eyes that he immediately wiped away with his thumbs, cupping her face in his hands.

“Seven years,” he whispered, his thumbs brushing her cheek. Devastation reigned on her face as she turned her head to look out the window, fingers tapping anxiously against her leg. Rowan watched as panic seemed to rise within her, as she starting tapping her leg harder. “Look at me, love,” he said, turning her face gently, but her eyes stayed glued on the window. “Baby, look at me,” his voice was low, calm, and soothing, enough so that her eyes shifted to his. “I’ve got you. It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay.”

Aelin nodded, wiping at the corners of her eyes, brushing warm tears from her flushed cheeks, wiped her nose. Her hands were shaking as they rested back on the bed, her eyes shifting to study Rowan’s face down to his hands. When her eyes landed on his left hand, her brow furrowed confusion washing over her pale face.

“That’s…that’s not the ring,” her voice cracked and she cleared her throat before continuing, “that’s not the ring that I put on your finger.” Her own finger tapped his wedding band, the wedding band that was a show of his vows to Lyria, a solid gold band. It was simple, unlike the one Aelin had slid on his finger on their wedding day. That wedding band was a matte black ring, with a.a.w.g. engraved over the top in gold. Her ring had been engaged with his initials, too. She jerked the hand he had been holding from his grasp and rolled onto her side, tucking her hands under her head. Rowan’s eyes fluttered shut as he reached for her again.

“Do not touch me,” she said severely, each word enunciated despite the groggy way her eyes kept closing, each word like a dagger to his lungs, his heart. He knew better than to try to talk again, knew better than to touch her. Not just because she was upset, but because she’d been through so much trauma she probably hadn’t had the ability to decide if and when she was touched by anyone. He wouldn’t violate that now. Not when he’d just hurt her when she had already been through unspeakable things.

So he stood and left the room, making his way to the waiting room where he sank to the floor, hand clutching his chest as he let out a sob, wanting so badly to pull his own heart, his lungs, everything from inside him to ease the pain. Aelin was back, she was back and she hated him. The only constant she could have had right now he took away without meaning to. Shattering what was surely left of her hope.

-

When he entered the room, Aelin’s eyes scanned it for any sign of danger before she settled on his face. She pushed herself into a sitting position, grunting slightly.

“I heard about what you did to that nurse. Remind me to never get on your bad side,” he tried to tease, eyes full of tears as he stepped toward her bed. Aelin couldn’t help the slight grin as she took in the other side to her coin, her other half.

“Hello, Aedion,” her voice rasped, teeth biting her bottom lip and she scooted over, patting the space beside her. He barely made it to the bed before he crumbled, her own face crumpling as she held him, and he held her, each of them sobbing into the others shoulder.

They stayed like that for awhile, holding each other, Aedion breathing in the smell of her hair, her skin. They had been partners in crime since she was old enough to walk despite Aedion being five years her senior. They were the best of friends, doing everything together. Aedion was never too cool for Aelin, she hung out with him and his friends constantly. He’d been a protective force in her life since birth, where he swore to protect her in front of their entire family the first time she had wrapped her hand around his tiny finger.

When Aelin went missing, he was beside himself. He’d wanted to beat Rowan senseless, he’d hounded their FBI team relentlessly that they weren’t doing enough. His only relief had ever been that Maeve was behind bars, but not having her body to recover had nearly eaten him alive. The nightmares he’d had while she was gone happened every single night without fail. Now, with Aelin in his arms, he wondered if he would get a night of peaceful sleep.

“How did Rowan…how is he married to someone else?” She asked after awhile, settling her head against Aedion’s chest. His hand smoothed over her hair over and over and he rested his chin on her head.

“He told you that?”

“I noticed the ring,” she picked at the sheets of the blanket, letting out a huff of a sigh.

“They declared you dead, Aelin.” At that, she started, twisting to look up at his tear stained face. She shook her head, opening her mouth to object. “The M.O. matched and they thought they’d find your body like they did they others. We had a funeral, you have a grave. We…they declared you dead and it took him years. They haven’t even been married a year yet and I don’t think he loves her the way he loves you. He asked for my blessing before he even dated the girl.”

“So he hasn’t just been…moving on while I’ve been…while I’ve been gone?” She croaked, tears streaking her own face.

“Of course he hasn’t. Of course he hasn’t. You think I would have let him do that? Come on, A. You know him better than that. He was out of his mind. So was I; me and Rowan and Fenrys. There were some days that even Lorcan did nothing but stare at your case files hoping to see something they had missed.” He shook his head and tucked her head back under his chin. “We didn’t want to stop looking but they had all the evidence and the case was closed once you were declared dead.” He didn’t say anything after that, and neither did she. Aedion merely held his cousin while she silently cried against his chest, cried for the life and love she had lost, cried for the torment she had been out through. She cried and cried until her tears swept her off to sleep.

-

It took a lot of begging, a lot of pleading with her psychiatrist, but Aelin was finally released to leave the hospital, to continue her healing at home. Although home wasn’t with her husband and daughter, because they had a new home, a new life. It was with Aedion in his apartment that he shared with his girlfriend, Lysandra. They had just started dating right before Aelin was taken, so she didn’t know her very well, but she was kind and made her feel right at home.

It was the next morning that Aedion drove her to Rowan’s house. It was smaller than their home had been, made of wood rather than stone. It had a white porch that wrapped around the front, complete with the porch swing that Aelin had loved so much, had spent hours rocking Willow on after she’d been born.

She climbed out of the car and knocked at the door, Aedion’s hand a solid, comforting force against her back. Her eyes found his for a moment before the door open to reveal Rowan, who wore a relaxed t-shirt and jeans. He stared at her for a moment before opening the door wider, ushering her inside. Rowan had just closed the door when Aelin gripped Aedion’s hand, her eyes frantically searching the room.

“That sound – the water I can, I can hear it – where is it coming from?” She backed up into Aedion’s body, the wishy-washy sound of water sounding all too much like the water flooding into the tank. Rowan looked around for a moment and swore, running to the kitchen and disappearing from view. Aedion ran his hand over her back gently as the sound stopped and Rowan returned. Her chest was heaving, her hands shaking, as she mentally tried to calm herself, tried to talk herself down. She tried to ground herself, five things she could see, things she could smell, things she could feel.

“The washing machine. I’m so sorry-“

“Don’t be. I overreacted, I’m sorry,” she wiped at her eyes with the backs of her hands and forced a smile, then cleared her throat awkwardly. “I’m sorry,” she added again, running her hands through her hair and letting out a shaky breath. “Is um…is your wife home?”

“Yes,” Rowan said softly, eyes darting to the floor then back to her face. “She’s making tea. Earl Grey, splash of milk, dash of sugar?” Aelin merely nodded, so Rowan gestured for the living room. Aedion and Aelin both followed, sitting on the couch. Aelin wrung her hands almost violently – over the last few days they had become raw from how hard she twisted at her skin to soothe her anxious mind and heart. It didn’t work, the false soothing, it didn’t help anything, only made her hands red, made them ache.

Through a doorway that Aelin had been able to easily determine was the kitchen, she noticed a rattling of glass that she knew was tea on a tray. Her eyes shifted to the doorway as a rather pale woman with naturally loose brown curls, brown eyes. She was quite the opposite of Aelin, at least the woman Aelin usually was, the woman she had been. Her eyes raked over the woman, her replacement, the woman that had stolen her husband, her daughter. Her daughter.

“Where’s Willow?” She asked, looking to Rowan as his wife placed the tray of tea on the center table. Rowan looked more tense than she’d ever seen him outside of work, his face all hard lines and frowns. She could see the tension in his shoulders, his neck, could see it in the way his job feathered. He started to stand but Lyria shook her head.

“I can get her,” she said, offering Aelin a smile that wasn’t returned. Lyria moved to the staircase that was right outside the room, calling up the stairs. “Willow!”

“I could have done that,” Aelin said, looking to Rowan, then Aedion, who gave her a stern look.

“She’s really nice, A, just-“ he stopped talking as he took in the look on her face, pressing his lips in a hard line. He was tempted to laugh, if only because he was so happy to have his cousin back that he’d even missed the grumpy expression that crowded her features.

“Hey dad, I-“ a small voice came after the sound of footsteps running down stairs, then a big hop off a bottom step. Aelin’s breath caught in her throat, she felt like she couldn’t breathe as she shot to her feet, her eyes instantly filling with tears.

Willow had been three when Aelin had been taken. Now, she was ten years old and so stunning, so perfect. She was all the good parts of her and Rowan put together, his silvery hair, his strong and straight nose, Aelin’s Ashryver eyes, her bone structure. She was beautiful, the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen, ever would see, just as she had been the last time she saw her. Willow bit her lip, looking identical to Aelin. She looked, aside from her hair, just as Aelin had at that age.

“Willow,” she breathed, unable to stop the tears that spilled over. She pressed her hand flat to her chest, pressing the back of her other to her nose. Aelin had never felt so overwhelmed in her life as she did now, looking at her perfect baby girl, having missed so much of her life. She looked at Rowan who watched her intently, watched and gave her a small nod, then looked at Willow and gave her the same nod of encouragement. “Do you know who I am?”

“You’re my mom,” she said, taking a step toward Aelin. “Daddy tells me about you every day. Any story I want, he lets me pick.”Aelin sat back down to be eye level with Willow as she approached her, her little hand reaching out to touch her hair. “I remember your hair. I remember calling you my princess mommy,” Willow beamed, twirling a strand around her finger.

“Yeah?” Aelin grinned at her daughter, at her baby. Willow nodded, then looked over her shoulder at Rowan before launching herself at Aelin, wrapping her arms around her neck. Shocked, it took Aelin a moment to wrap her arms around her, but when she did, she hugged her tightly, burying her face in her neck. Seven years, and if she had to do it all again for this moment, she would. She would face everything she’d faced a thousand times over if only to hold her baby again. She would slay dragons, she would breathe fire, if it all led to Willow.

“Daddy said you’d gone to Heaven but I never believed him,” she whispered in Aelin’s ear, causing another sob to escape her throat. Aelin merely squeezed her daughter tighter.

“I love you so much,” Aelin pressed her lips to Willow’s temple, smoothed her hand over her hair, and when she looked up at Rowan, he was crying, too.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on tumblr @highqueenofelfhame and on Instagram @darlingwritingod!


	5. Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You cut me deep, it hurts to feel  
> It's taking time, but wounds, they heal  
> Scars - Foxes

Breaking News – We have just received word that today, Maeve Thornbriar will be released from prison after seven years behind bars for the murder of Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius – who earlier this week was found in an abandoned cabin locked in a tank full of water. Galathynius, a former FBI agent, was pronounced dead in Absentia years ago, after evidence pointed to her being another victim –

Aedion shut the TV off, cutting the news report short and Aelin turned to glare at him, the eyes they shared dripping in ice and fire. He set the remote down and handed her a cup of coffee, the warmth seeping deep into her palms. She took a sip, the bitterness coating her tongue as she turned the fluid over in her mouth, enjoying the way it burnt her tastebuds before she swallowed. Pain grounded her to where she sat on the couch in Aedion’s living room. Pain had also grounded her to the tank, to the cell she barely remembered being kept in. Pain was something that made her hyperaware of her surroundings, physical and emotional. Emotional pain like having to leave Willow with Rowan and Lyria, pain like having to see the way another woman looked at her husband. Pain like Maeve being let out of prison because now that Aelin was alive, all of the circumstantial evidence fell through. Now they’d have to come up with a new case all together to prove that she was responsible for her kidnapping, but that would be hard considering somebody had put Aelin in that tank last week, and it couldn’t have been Maeve. She’d been in the Staghorn Mountain Penitentiary near Allsbrook in the mountains to the west, Aelin was found in a basement in Oakwald Forest on the outskirts of Orynth.   
  
Aelin’s fingers traced idly around the shape of her mouth as she stared at the black mirror that was the television, finally leaning back after a moment to take another sip of coffee. Behind her, Aedion’s phone rang, and he spoke into the receiver in hushed tones, his voice hardly above a murmur, but she could hear every word.

“Yeah, she saw it. I cut it off. She’s having coffee. I’m sure that’s fine. I can let her know,” and then the call was over. Aelin didn’t have to ask to know that it was Rowan.

“Rowan wants to come by to check on you,” he said, sitting next to her on the couch. Aelin chewed on her cheek, anxiously making scars along the inside of her mouth from gnawing so hard. She shrugged.

If there was anything that she couldn’t admit, it was that seeing Rowan was just about the only thing in the entire universe that made her feel safe. Rowan, who had always been a solid constant from the moment they met: the way his hand was solid on her back, the way his voice had been a low hum in her ear while they swayed to Frank Sinatra at the Christmas party. A solid force that had been at her back on every single bust, had taken bullets meant for her into his bullet-proof vest that could potentially have hit her neck, her head. Rowan who, on their wedding day, had vowed to protect her from harm, to follow her to whatever end. But this end hadn’t been in mind then, had it? Her being taken from the safety of their home, assumed dead, and metaphorically buried away in a mahogany casket hadn’t been in the cards. For those vows he had said, it had been death of old age he had in mind. Not assumed murder. He couldn’t follow her to that end. She had never wanted him to.

But those vows also made no mention of what would happen if she came back from the dead to find he had a pretty wife that mothered their child. Wedding vows weren’t meant to promise what happened if you came back from death – only what you would do and how you would love your significant other when death came to pass for you both. ‘Til death do us part. And death had parted them.

Until it hadn’t.

“Gods above, what did they do to you?” his voice was low and barely a whisper, and it scared her so bad that her tea cup went clattering to the floor, shattering at her feet.

She didn’t care as she grabbed her gun off the counter and whipped around, hair slicing through the air as she pointed the gun at his chest. Her finger shook over the trigger, but caressed it all the same, fully ready to fire at a moments notice. Glass dug into her feet when she spun to face him, but she could barely register the pain. If anything, it felt like the prickling of her foot being asleep. Rowan glanced down, his face paling at the blood that now covered the white tile flooring. It reminded him too much of her blood being spilled all over their bedroom, the mess he had come home to on the worst day of his life.

Slowly, he approached her, hands in front of him defensively. Aelin was breathing heavily, chest heaving and nostrils flared as her eyes spilled over with tears. The PTSD, the anxiety had a strong grip on her because, despite seeing Rowan here now, how many times had she seen him while she had been locked in a cold and damp concrete room? Too many. But she let him wrap his hand around the barrel of the gun and take it from her shaking hands. He lay it back on the counter and Aelin fell into him, his strong arms lifting her from the floor as she cried against him, her feet still dripping with that color he hated so much.

He carried her to the living room and deposited her on the couch then disappeared into the bathroom, returning moments later with supplies to clean her feet. Aelin didn’t say anything, just rested her chin on her knees, nothing bothered by the pain in her feet. She’d had worse, after all. Much, much worse. Rowan knelt before her, gently dabbing at the blood, then carefully pulling the glass from the bottoms of her feet. He swore when her foot jerked away instinctively, eyes dashing up to hers.

“I’m so sorry.”

“I can barely feel it. That just tickled,” she pressed her lips in a fine line and turned her gaze to the window, staying quiet until he finished. Rowan cleaned up the mess then returned to sit next to her, eyes studying her.

“Your back—”

“Beautiful isn’t it? Good thing it didn’t look like this when we got married, otherwise my backless dress would have been out of the question.”

“Can I—”

“Ask about what was done to me for seven years while you were fucking someone else? Sure, Rowan. Ask away.”

“Aelin,” his eyes fluttered closed and she studied him.

Studied the way he took deep breaths to likely calm himself, the way his eyelashes fluttered. His hands balled into fists, clenching and unclenching against his thighs and he sank against the back of the couch defeated.

“When they told me they were assuming you to be dead, that it was now a search for your body…that day I came home I felt like I wasn’t in my own body. I couldn’t feel anything. Everything was a lethal calm and I wanted and tried to tear the world apart to find you. I couldn’t do anything but focus on the case. We moved in with Gav and Aerin because I couldn’t be a good enough parent to Willow on my own. I…when they put the folder down that had—” he stopped, eyes fluttering shut again as he leaned forward, forearms on his thighs. “When they told me we were looking for your body now, I destroyed the conference room. I got benched. I was so fucking helpless and useless and all I could see in my mind was you dead, half covered in sticks and leaves. All I dream about anymore is it being my fault. If I had stayed home, you asked me to stay and I left—” and then he was choking on sobs; his hand clutching his chest as though he felt the physical pain.

“Rowan—”

“When I pulled you out of that tank I wanted to die because you were still alive all this time and I was living a new life and fucking someone else. You were being tortured, you were skinned alive, you were drowning in a tank and I was fucking someone else and I will never fucking forgive myself for it.” He pushed himself to his feet, hands tugging at his silver hair as he paced the floor before her. A panic attack. Rowan was throwing himself into a panic attack. “I’m so sorry, Aelin, I’m so sorry I gave up. I’m so sorry.”

She reached out from where she sat then and grabbed his hand, tugging him toward her. Rowan fell before her on his kneels, head falling into her lap as his arms wrapped around her body. Aelin snaked her own arms around his and pressed a kiss to the back of his head as she rest her forehead on top of his. Her long, lithe fingers traced shapes over his back, ran up and down the notches of his spine as he cried into her lap, doing his best to breathe and calm himself as they held each other.

The movements of her hands over his back or lightly scratching like she’d used to every night while they cuddled on the couch didn’t cease until his breathing did. Even then, she didn’t move, twirled the short gift of hair at the naps of his neck and took advantage of being able to breathe in his scent. The scent she had dreamed about for so many years, the scent that had kept her feeling safe despite her circumstances.

“It was you,” she finally said, pressing a kiss to the back of his head before she sat up, leaning against the couch.

She moved her legs so she was laying down, but half propped up and patted her stomach. Rowan hesitated, she could see it in his eyes, but after a moment he climbed on top of her, head laying just below her breasts, her legs wrapped around his body. They both needed it, the closeness. Aelin to feel like her life wasn’t completely ruined and falling apart, Rowan to know that even for a moment he could still touch her, feel her.

“What do you mean?” He asked, fingers swirling around on her bare thigh, the both of them caressing each other’s warm skin in soothing movements that had them both calm.

“Thinking about you was all the kept me going. I would have dreams. Dreams of our wedding day, of you proposing. Everything was exactly as it was. You carrying me over the threshold into our house for the first time, you holding me while I slept. Having Willow, her birthday parties. My birthday parties. I dreamt in memories that were so far out of reach but it’s all I had. You were all I had. You saved me, Rowan,” she pressed another kiss to the top of his head. “You…you can’t blame yourself for what happened. It’s not your fault. Moving on isn’t your fault. I only ever wanted you to be happy. You were my last thought when I thought I was going to die, and then suddenly you were pulling me out of that tank. You saved me, Ro. You didn’t damn me. You saved me.”

Rowan shifted so he could look up at her, his arm now over her thigh. His cheeks were wet with tears as he brushed a strand of her hair out of her face. Aelin propped herself up on her elbows and Rowan did the same, hovering over her, his hands brushing along her exposed collarbones, up her neck.

“I think about you every gods damned day. I can’t get you out of my head,” he whispered, thumb grazing her chin.

And then he kissed her, softly at first, gently, as though resting the waters. After a moment, however, he couldn’t contain the hunger that tasting her for the first time in seven years brought forth, and soon, his tongue was sweeping into her mouth. Their lips moved together, tongues lazily tangling, but soon become more urgent. Teeth tugged on lips, grazed tongues. She moaned when he tugged on her bottom lip, moaned when he kissed down her neck and sucked on the curve where her neck met her shoulder.

“Rowan,” she breathed, hands scratching up and down his back. He pulled back to look at her, a silent question to ensure this was okay. She nodded, her hand cupping his jaw and pulling his mouth back to her as his hips jerked forward to grind against hers.

Aelin was hot all over, body scaldingly hot as his need licked through her like flame, but his fingers trailing over her bare thigh, over her abdomen was like ice, freezing and thawing her insides all at once.

“Aelin,” he groaned her name, her hands running under his shirt, tracing over the strong muscles of his back. Her long legs were hitched up at his sides and he rocked forward again, the evidence of his wanting hard between her legs. Rowan had just rocked against her again, was in the middle of a deep kiss with his hand holding her jaw when there was an awkward cough from the front door.

Aedion had come back home and neither had even heard the door open. Rowan pulled back from Aelin, his lips swollen and red, face flushed and pupils blown with desire.

“Shit. Fuck, I-I can’t do this,” and then he was climbing off of her, untangling himself from her limbs. Aelin brow furrowed, her lips cast down in a frown as she sat up, reaching for his hands that he deftly pulled from her grasp.

“Ro-“

“It was…that was…I have to go,” he stumbled over his words the same way he stumbled over his feet. Aelin was frozen, unable to move toward him as he walked away from her.

“I’m your wife,” her voice broke on the word and he froze in the doorway, the hurt evident as it settled on his face, consuming his features. His chest heaved and he turned away from her.

“N-not…not anymore,” he said, so quietly that for a moment she thought she’d heard him wrong. Never in a thousand years did she ever believe that Rowan Whitethorn would ever be walking away from her.

Hardly registering the sound of the door clicking closed, she sat up, ignoring the incredulous look on Aedion’s face and disappeared into her room, shutting the door behind her. She couldn’t hear as he said her name outside the door, her legs giving out from beneath her completely as she fell to the floor, back pressed against the door and forehead on her knees and she sobbed. The ache in her chest, she decided, felt far worse than any of the pain she had felt when she had been tortured.

-

Detective Sam Cortland with the Orynth Police department stood at the edge of the lake, water lapping up the shore just short of where his boots rest in the sand. He was running his thumb over his bottom lip as he watched the team of divers carry the waterlogged body out of the lake. It was obvious where the fish had nipped at the skin, feeding on the body like it hadn’t once been a conscious being with thoughts, relationships, ambitions.

“You’re gonna wanna see this,” one of the divers said as the coroner approached. They laid the body on an outstretched tarp and rolled it over to show the back of the victim, which was missing a long strip of skin. The same M.O. that belonged to the woman that was released from jail earlier that day. Sam swore.

“I want a full work up on my desk as soon as possible,” he said, running his hands through his hair. This case was starting to feel like finding Aelin Galathynius was only the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow my Instagram @darlingwritingod


	6. Haze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s a crushing silence where love’s a disease  
> Like a fever it grips me  
> Like a lover it holds  
> Scared of getting older  
> Scared of dying alone  
> I’m in a blue haze
> 
> Haze - Amber Run

She stood in the kitchen, swirling a teabag around her cup as she read an article on her phone, thumb scrolling slowly as she disposed of the teabag and carried her cup to the bedroom. When she crawled back into her bed she tucked her legs under the covers and pressed play on Netflix, opening a new text to Rowan, who would be home in a few hours. She had just started to type up an “I miss you,” text when she heard something from the front of the house, which only made her grin widely in assumption that her love had come home early. 

“Baby?” She called as the door clicked shut quietly, but she didn’t hear any movement, no response. “Ro, baby, is that you?” Still nothing, but she knew she’d heard the door open and close. Their back door had a slight squeak to it that sounded the same every single time the hinges moved. Something was definitely wrong, because even if he’d been trying to sneak up on her, he would have been in their room by now. “Rowan it’s not funny anymore,” she tested one more time, fingers sliding her nightstand drawer open to reach for her gun. 

She wasn’t quite quick enough. A body dressed in all black came barreling toward her. She lunged for her gun and ran for the bathroom, whipping around in the door just as the body slammed into hers, her head throwing back and slamming against the wall. She struggled to point her gun to kill, so she shot to maim, the person hissing in pain as blood dripped from their leg but it was merely a flesh wound, had merely grazed their skin. 

Using all her training, she shoved into their body and into the room, but not fast enough still as a knife sliced down her back. Aelin screamed in pain, turning on her heel to fight the attacker off, but the knife slid across the flesh of her bare abdomen like she was made of butter. Aelin gripped her hands to her stomach, gun clattering to the ground, her foot kicking it under the bed as she tried to stagger for it, but she collapsed on the white duvet, watching as her blood pooled around her. And then everything went dark. 

Detective Sam Cortland shut the case file of the Galathynius case, in particular her testimony of the day she went missing that she gave less than twelve hours after being found. He opened another file that contained photos of the crime scene, and didn’t understand how the girl had made it out alive at all. Blood was everywhere. Everywhere but the bathroom, which had been cleaned likely because of the bullet wound she had managed to get in on the intruder. 

“Detective Cortland?” A voice behind him and he turned, noticing a young woman with long brown hair. “I wanted to speak with you about Aelin Galathynius, that woman that’s been on the news.” 

“What about her?”

“She wasn’t kidnapped, she’s lying.” 

“And why would she be doing that?” Sam leaned back in his chair, quirking a brow at the dark-haired woman. She was beautiful, refined, wearing a business suit like she’d come here on her lunch break from a law firm.

“I saw her arguing with a man down by the docks. I run that way every morning. It was definitely her, I realized it the moment I saw the press releases that she was found. I was confused since I’d seen her not too long ago. I just figured I should tell someone.” 

“Did you hear what they were arguing about?” 

“I was too far away, but she was definitely mad at him. Even shoved him once.” 

“What did the man look like?” He asked, and the girl shrugged.

“Tall, at least six feet. Thirties or forties, red hair.” Sam held up a finger and picked up a stack of photos that were in one of the folders on his desk. 

“Stop me if one looks familiar,” and then he began flipping photos down onto his desk. She stopped him on the fifth picture. 

“Him. It was him,” she said, and Sam’s brow furrowed. Arobynn Hamel, drug lord that was also linked to human trafficking. 

“You’re sure?” Sam’s fingers tapped the photo again, his eyes rocking over the woman’s face as though he could catch her in a lie just based on the way her eyes moved. She didn’t falter. 

“I’m positive, detective.” 

-  
Rowan Whitethorn sat with his face in his hands, earbuds tucked into his ears as he listened to the tape of Aelin’s therapy session from the morning. Brullo recorded anything that could be pertinent to the case, and this session was one Aelin had requested he record because it was the first of her cognitive sessions. Her voice was calm, almost a trance as she spoke, her accent rolling over certain sounds. She spoke of a sapphire blue eye, skewered like an olive in a cocktail. 

“Focus, Aelin. Where are you when you see it?” 

“Theres flowers. Beautiful flowers. Dahlia, Rose, Kingsflame, Lotus Blossoms,” she rattled them off. “The box is near the mouth of the river, lilies line the bank of the river. It smells sweet, almost sickly. It’s a little…marble box. It’s heavy and cold. And when I open it it’s inside and…it’s wrong. Something about it is wrong somehow. The eye is too blue, too…aware for being skewered on a golden toothpick.” 

Rowan paused the tape, hands grabbing for a folder on his desk. He flipped it open, skimming over the names, aliases, and photos within the file. It was an old case of Aelin’s, a case regarding Arobynn Hamel, a drug lord that they suspected was involved with human trafficking with Clarissa DuVency too, but she had never been able to find the evidence to make it stick. He sent out an email, requesting a department meeting and headed to the conference room, tacking the photos up on the boards at the front of the room. 

Minutes later, Rowan found himself spewing information to his colleagues, pointing out names and faces as he went. Hamel used flowers to disguise his shipments, as did DuVency. The names and photos in the folders were the names of victims of DuVencies, and he had a list of floral shipments to a local florist that allegedly placed orders for Hamel but Aelin hadn’t ever found solid evidence. It had all been circumstantial. 

“At one point when she was undercover, he’d put out a hit on her, but again, it was all Alleged,” he explained, running his hands over his face. “We need to look into Hamel because he could have kept her in that cabin.”

“I want Moonbeam and Salvaterre looking into Hamel. Whitethorn, pay a visit to Aelin and see if she remembers anything useful,” the director said, and everyone stood and headed off to their individual missions, a few going back to their work of researching Maeve Thornbriar. Rowan left the office and drove straight to Aedion Ashryver’s, knocking on the door until Aelin answered wearing nothing but a large white t-shirt. 

“Rowan?” She tilted her head slightly but let him in, the memory of their last encounter prominent in her mind. Not anymore. 

“Could Arobynn Hamel have been at the cabin?” He asked, watching as she sat back down on the couch, long legs curling beneath her body. Aelin pressed her lips together in thought. 

“I don’t remember seeing him, or hearing him. I spent a lot of time with the man, I would have known his voice.”

“I think he was there,” Rowan sat down across from her on the coffee table, leaning so his elbows rest against his knees. The both of them, it seemed, were acutely aware of how close together they were. Aelin tugged her knees closer to her body, Rowan tried not to look too offended. “He disguised his shipments in flowers and I listened you list those flowers off to Brullo. Dahlias and roses and Kingsflame and-“ He was cut off by Aelin rushing to her feet and leaving the room. Rowan followed, startled by her sudden movement. She came out of her bedroom with a vase of flowers. The same he had just listed, that she had listed on the tape with Brullo. Aelin put the vase on the counter and wiped her hands on her shirt as though to rid herself of any germs, any of any negativity the bouquet possessed. Rowan was already dialing his team, though. Fenrys answered on the first ring.

“I need an evidence pick up at Ashryver’s now. I’ll send you the address,” he barked, ending the call as fast as it began. “When did you get those?” 

“The day I got home, They were at the door when we got home. We assumed they were from the bureau or something.” Rowan merely nodded, watching how she held herself – fingers clutching her elbows so hard that he knew there would be crescents left on her skin, blood may even be drawn. 

“We’ll figure this out,” he told her. “I promise.” 

-

A knife, cold and sharp against her skin, along her neck. An arrow, the sharp tip being pressed between her ribs, drawing blood as it threatened to completely puncture her skin. Poisoned berries rubbed a long her lips, the juice dripping down her chin. Such unconventional ways to torment someone, such unconventional ways to kill. 

Always one step ahead, always slipping through her fingers like oil. Every time she should have been two steps ahead of him, she managed to stay one step behind, almost as if- 

Aelin awoke, gasping for air. Her body was sticky with sweat, the T-shirt she wore soaked through as she barreled out of bed, throwing on fresh clothes and her tennis shoes, and then she was running, sprinting several blocks over. Her lungs were weak and out of shape, her entire body was out of shape, but she pushed herself to keep running until she was pounding on the door, the stitch in her side bleating with pain. 

The porch light flickered on and the door swung open and revealed a shirtless Rowan, who was squinting against the orange light. 

“There was a dirty agent.”

“What?” He was confused, squinting at her through narrowed eyes that were heavy with sleep, his brow furrowed as he ushered her inside. She moved in, careful to avoid touching him as she paced in his living room. Rowan leaned against the arm of the couch, arms folded over his bare chest. 

“I think there’s a dirty agent. On some cases, especially the case with Arobynn Hamel. That case, I was one step behind all the time it didn’t matter that I should have been ahead.” Aelin’s hands were laced and resting atop her head as she still gasped for air, the run over having been more taxing than she’d anticipated. 

“Do you need a glass of water?” 

“I need you to listen to me, Rowan. When I went to the director he-“

“Baby?” Lyria’s voice carried through the doorway and Aelin tensed, her jaw clenching so tight she thought her teeth might break. Her nostrils even flared as she moved toward the door, away from Rowan and his new life. 

“Aelin,” he reached out to grab her by her arm but she jerked away. 

“It was stupid to come here. I’ll go to Fen next time,” she said flatly, not giving Lyria a second look as she opened the door. 

“Aelin, wait a second,” he said, following her out into the night. “Let me drive you home.”

“Go back to bed, Rowan. Your wife is waiting,” she said, twisting that knife into his chest, the same one he had stabbed her with hours ago, as she took a few steps backward, then turned and took off running down the street. 

-

It was the absolute happiest day of his life. He’d never felt so elated, so purely full of joy. There wasn’t an ounce of nervous energy in his body – Rowan Whitethorn had never been so sure of anything in his life. 

The small chapel was full of flowers and greenery in shades of emerald and plum and sapphire. The chapel itself was made almost entirely of glass, the trees surrounding them wrapped in lights. Golden lanterns hung from the rafters, their inner candles flickering with flame. Their guests were seated on tree trunks topped with soft cushions. It was woodsy and inexplicably Aelin and Rowan. 

They had foregone groomsmen and bridesmaids, flower girls and ring bearers. It would only be the two of them at the end of the aisle, so when the music started and the doors open and she finally stepped into view, he felt as though he might burst. 

Her dress was beautiful, long sleeved lace. Later he would realize it was backless, and he would relish in feeling her bare skin under his fingers all night. Aelin’s hair was in soft curls and a raw crystal crown sat atop her head, fit for the queen that she was. Her makeup was simple, tasteful, all she needed to blow him completely out of the water, but she would have done that regardless. 

At the first sight of her, he had begun to cry, tears of unbridled happiness spilling over onto his cheeks. The love of his life was mere seconds from her hand being placed in his when things started to go wrong. It wasn’t at all like he remembered. Because her white dress was staining with blood. 

Rowan ran to her quickly, tears of joy turned to tears of fear as he pressed his hands to her abdomen, her arms, anything to staunch the bleeding. 

“What’s wrong? Oh gods it’s the dress, isn’t it? You hate it.” What was she talking about? How was she so calm? How was she talking – how was she breathing? 

“Aelin, I-I can’t find the source-“

Suddenly, quick as it took him to blink, she was soaking wet, water streaming down her face, her hair as though she were under direct stream of a shower. 

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed, holding her face in his hands. “I’m so sorry.”

“Why did you stop looking for me, Rowan? You said you would find me. You promised no matter what you would find me. You vowed to protect me. Why didn’t you protect me?” 

“Baby I’m so sorry I-“

Rowan woke up, throwing himself from bed and running to the bathroom, knees barking in pain as he threw himself onto the floor before the toilet and heaved until his stomach was empty. Heaved until the nausea subsided, and then he rest his forehead against the cool porcelain of the toilet bowl, not at all concerned about sanitation. And then he let himself weep. 

It was an hour before he had calmed to move back to bed, but he couldn’t get in. He stared at Lyria’s sleeping form, stared at his disturbed side of the bed and went to grab his pillow when she shifted and spoke. 

“I thought they would be better with her coming back,” she said quietly, rolling over to look at him. Rowan’s eyes closed and he let out a frustrated sigh. 

“You thought that the nightmares of her being dead would be better when she came back and I realized she’d been alive and tortured the entire time that I had given up on her?” His words were sharp as the the edge of a sword, his voice shaking with grief and anger. 

“You don’t have to be mean to me, Rowan, I just thought-“ 

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” he said, voice only a little softer. “I’m going to sleep on the couch.” 

“Why?”

“I just can’t, Lyria,” he picked up his pillow and moved to the door, only stopping when her voice mumbled a quiet ‘I love you,’ but he kept moving to the living room, where he settled in to stare at the ceiling until he heard his alarm start chirping from the other room.

-

Rowan had been tense, as usual when she was around these days, as he turned over the conversation they had just had with the Director of the FBI. The two men had asked her who her sources had been on the case with Arobynn Hamel when she’d been trying to solve it, and Aelin had flat out refused to give them any information unless it was agreed upon that she could attend whatever bust may or may not be happening in the coming nights. Rowan didn’t want her to go, nor did the director, both men telling her that she wasn’t ready. Aelin had promptly disagreed. She was ready. She was tired of sitting around and not doing anything to help herself, to solve the case of who had her. Aelin got up and left the room when they told her no, only for Rowan to chase her down the hall moments later telling her that the director agreed to let her go on the bust. 

Her source was a young woman whom Aelin had helped rebuild her life after being trafficked by Clarisse DuVency. Her source, Nehemia Ytger, had been the biggest component to getting the bust on Clarisse. Unfortunately, none of the information that they had received had helped Aelin pin down Arobynn Hamel. Rowan had taken Aelin down to meet with her, and found out that, to their sheer luck, there was a drug shipment rumored to be coming in tonight down at the docks. 

Their entire team was now hidden around an empty warehouse, Rowan standing right behind her just in case she tried to sneak off on her own. It annoyed Aelin to no end, that she was essentially being babysat, but she knew it was with good reason. There had been too many missions where she had slipped off on her own and Rowan had barely showed up in time to save her from whatever fate she’d nearly met. Aelin could feel his solid, muscular body close to her, despite the bulletproof vest that protected her torso. 

“Are you okay?” His voice was low, barely a whisper in her ear. She shivered as she nodded her head, wanting so badly to lean against him, to feel his warmth and his security. Instead, she shifted on her feet, moving away from him in a small amount as she waited for the signal. It didn’t take long, as soon as the men began moving massive packages of cocaine they moved in, Vaughan, Lorcan, and Connall leading the raid. Rowan stayed close to Aelin, telling her to stay put. She did, for the most part, only moving forward to peer around the edge of the shipping container when they stormed the vehicle Hamel should have been in. To everyone’s surprise, however, he wasn’t. 

The man that they pulled from the car was not Arobynn Hamel, but instead one of his associates. Aelin felt the blood drain from her body. No, no, no no. This wasn’t right. It was supposed to be Hamel, she was supposed to get all the answers that she so desperately needed. Before she knew what she was doing, before she could even try to stop herself, she was running, sprinting toward the man in the car and shoving him against the hood. Over and over her fist pounded into the man’s face, his jaw, his nose, his teeth. Even when her knuckles split she kept hitting him.

“WHERE IS HE?” She was screaming, over and over with every hit even as Rowan ripped her off of him, gripping her arms with a bruising intensity behind her back.

“Aelin!” 

“Who are you and where is Arobynn Hamel?” Rowan shouted, still gripping her arms tightly.  
“My name is Tern, I haven’t seen Hamel in years, I swear!” The man shouted through sobs of pain. Blood dripped down his face as he cowered, dropping down onto the ground, his hands stretched out above his head, only for them to be jerked behind his back and cuffed him. Aelin’s chest was heaving as she shoved back against Rowan.

“He has to know something Rowan make him talk, he has to know he has to,” she cried, blood dripping down her hand as she struggled in his arms, struggled to get away to force answers out of the man on the ground in front of him. 

“We will figure it out, Aelin, but you have to calm down you can’t beat people to death for answers!” Aelin jerked away from him finally, turning to look at him as she ran her bloodied fingers through her hair, staining the golden strands red. Rowan gripped her by the upper arm and took her to the car they arrived in, helping her inside. “Please, Aelin. Just stay here. I’ll be right back, just stay here.” He shut the door behind her and walked away, leaving her to drop her head between her knees as nausea coursed through her body. 

Rowan walked away from the car, running a hand down his face. He had never seen Aelin lose it like that, had never seen such a wild look in her eyes as he had when he’d turned her around. Aelin wasn’t one to lose her head, she had usually calmed down Rowan when he’d fallen over that edge. But the woman he had just seen wasn’t his Aelin. That woman was unreachable and he hated it. 

“Whitethorn!” Rowan turned, brow furrowed as he saw Fenrys jogging toward him. “We finally got a hit on the body they pulled out of the lake. And the DNA under his fingernails.”

“And?”

“The body was Arobynn Hamel,” Fen said, resting his hands on his hips. 

“And under the nails?” Rowan asked, and that’s when Fenrys’s lips formed a tight line, when his gaze shifted to the ground. His boot toed the gravel, and Rowan smacked his arm as though trying to bring him back to present.

“The DNA under the nails it…Rowan it’s a match for Aelin.”

“That’s…not possible. Have them run it again.”

“They ran it five times. It’s…it’s definitely Aelin. To make it worse, Orynth PD has a witness that says she saw Aelin and Arobynn arguing a week before she was found,” Fen said, taking a deep breath. “I…Rowan, Aelin is the prime suspect in the murder of Arobynn Hamel.”


	7. Sinners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So let’s be sinners to be saints   
> And let’s be winners by mistake   
> The world may disapprove   
> But my world is only you
> 
> Sinners - Lauren Aquilina

8The look on his face had been enough to tell Aelin that whatever news that were to fall from his lips next was serious, and it wasn’t a joke. It wasn’t anything he was saying to get a rise out of her for beating a man to a bloody pulp at the docks. It wasn’t anything he was saying to mess with her, or something that they would laugh about in a few seconds because it was so preposterous that it were a thing. He looked like he was in physical pain at what he had to tell her. So when he did tell her, she immediately dropped to a squat, elbows on her knees and bloody fingers running through her golden hair. Aelin was the prime suspect in a murder. A murder that she had been missing during the time of, but apparently there was a witness that said otherwise.

Now, she was sitting in an interrogation room in the Orynth Police Department, the lawyer that Rowan had called in the cold metal seat next to her. Across from her was Detective Sam Cortland, another cop she’d yet to meet beside him. The words were still ringing in her head, playing over and over as she considered what he had just said.

“We have a witness putting you on docks arguing with Hamel a week before you were found. Conveniently you have no alibi,” Sam said, his head tilting to the side. He was looking at her the way she was usually looking at people – the way she had looked at Arobynn Hamel the times she’d tried to work information out of him. Aelin’s eyes shifted to the man in the seat next to Sam, one Detective Harding, before sliding back to Detective Cortland.

“Conveniently? I ‘conveniently’ have no alibi because I was presumed dead and being held prisoner-“

“That again, conveniently, you have no recollection of, Miss Galathynius.”

“I would like for you to be seconds away from drowning and walk away with no brain trauma, detective. You think I ruined my own rutting life for what? Shits and giggles? You think I spent seven years missing out on my daughter’s life by choice? Or that I walked away from my husband and let he and my child think I to be dead? You don’t know me, Detective Cortland, but I can assure you that Rowan and Willow are the two things in the world that I would never walk away from,” her jaw was clenched and she was leaned forward on her elbows, eyes blazing. So much anger coursed through her veins that it was hard to keep it all in check. To keep from launching herself across the table and committing a very real murder that would lead to a very real prison sentence. But she took a deep breath and closed her eyes, shaking her head. “I’m done.”

Sam Cortland sat back in his chair, too, his brown eyes studying Aelin’s face very carefully before he nodded. “Fine. But don’t leave town,” he said flatly, pushing from his chair and leaving the room. The other detective, Harding, followed soon after, leaving Aelin in the chair next to her attorney. She rubbed her hands over her eyes, so hard that several eyelashes were left in her palms she she pulled them away from her face.

“Do you think it’ll all go away if I make a wish, Dorian?” She asked, tilting to look at him. Instead of answering verbally, he reached over and pressed his finger down on one of them, then closed his eyes and blew. Making a wish. Holding onto fantasy, maybe, but Aelin did the same.

“We’ll see,” he said, squeezing her shoulder and nodding toward the door.

~*~  
Aelin’s phone rang, and rang, and rang, and every time she declined the call and tossed her phone back into the passenger seat. Rowan hadn’t stopped calling since she had finished up at the station, but she couldn’t lie to him when her voice was going to be shaking, so she just opted to not answer. Aelin had been sitting outside of Maeve’s house for two hours, just staring at the residence under the cover of the moon. Her anxiety was high, hands, voice, and breath all shaking. She had trouble explaining the exact feeling, but it felt as though her body were buzzing, vibrating, as she opened the door to her car and quietly made her way to the back.

An hour ago, before Maeve had been home, she had cut out all the cameras she had been able to find by shooting at them with a silenced handgun. Aelin had spent as much time cleaning up her shell casings and bullets to be sure that they’d be unable to trace the gun to hers and detain her for breaking and entering.

Now, she crept through the overgrown brush, the ivy vines that curled down the brick walls of the house while she broke in through the back door. It was too easy, really. To make the smallest of damages to the door so that it would appear locked but be easy enough to jiggle the nob and get in from the outside. This was a job she was doing unarmed. Unarmed because she could handle the woman in hand to hand combat easily enough; unarmed because she just wanted to talk.

Aelin had wanted, all too patiently, as she watched Maeve through her windows, watched until she disappeared into her bathroom to ready for bed, which is what made it so easy for Aelin to slip into her bedroom, cut the lights, and position herself in the darkest corner to wait. It didn’t take too long, only about half an hour before the dark haired woman emerged from the bathroom, black hair damp. She wore a white satin robe, such things Aelin herself used to enjoy until her life had been ruined.

Maeve made no comments, reached for no light switches as she moved to her bed, disrobed at the edge of it and crawled between the sheets. She didn’t lie down, though, instead looked to the corner where Aelin hid and tilted her head slightly, then, “Do you plan to come out, Aelin Galathynius, or do you plan to watch me sleep?”

“I want to know how you did it,” she said, her voice a lethal quiet as she moved from the shadows only her hair catching the light from the streetlight. Her face was hidden entirely by her hood. Maeve merely sighed from where she sat, sinking lower into her too-many pillows.

“You never had any proof that I killed anyone,” her tone was flat, bored. As though this was a conversation she’d had a thousand times and didn’t want to ever have again.

“Who helped you?”

“It’s such a shame, about your memory,” she drawled, fingers slowly braiding the ends of her hair. “I’m sure it would have helped with this little dilemma you’re having.”

“I-“ Aelin was cut off by the low vibration of a phone ringing. It wasn’t Aelin’s, hers was still in the passenger seat of Aedion’s car. Maeve reached over to her nightstand and answered the call on the third ring, humming in response, then telling whoever it was that the door was open. Both women were quiet as feet stomped up the stairs then entered the room, Detective Sam Cortland not saying a word as he pulled her hands behind her back and arresting her for breaking and entering. Aelin’s eyes didn’t leave Maeve’s as she was pulled through out the bedroom door.

When they arrived at the station, she was led in by Sam, his grip tight on the upper part of her arm. Instead of taking her to a holding cell, he took her to his desk and sat her down, even being so kind as to uncuff her. Aelin stretched her legs out before her, crossing them at the ankles as she folding her hands over her stomach. She wasn’t planning on saying much of anything to Cortland. He irritated her to no end, gave her whiplash in the way he treated her yet told Rowan he wanted to help her. To Aelin, it was all bullshit.

“Miss Thornbriar isn’t pressing charges,” Sam said, leaning to rest his forearms against the edge of his desk. Aelin nodded, drumming her fingers against her stomach. Of course she wouldn’t. What good would taunting her do if she was locked in a cell? “I want to help you, Aelin. I do. But you’re making that kind of hard.”

“That’s rich coming from the man that, just this morning, told me he thought I’d kidnapped myself.”

“I was relaying a scenario based on information I was provided by an eyewitness. You wouldn’t have done the same?” Aelin didn’t answer. She would have. It was always Rowan that they used to reel her in. He opened his mouth to say something, but the loud and fast approaching heavy footsteps behind her had him shutting it to say, “Your ride is here.” She didn’t have to turn around to know it was Rowan. Especially not when his fingers were so gentle on her arm as he guided her to her feet and nudged her toward the door. In his other hand, he slammed a folder down onto Sam’s desk. Her curiously peaked, but Rowan pointed toward the door that led outside. Based on how angry his features were, she decided to wait for him outside, but she could hear him shouting from outside the precinct.

When Rowan emerged, he was still very clearly angry, fuming. The veins in his neck and forehead were prominent, his lips pressed into a thin line molded into a frown as he led her to the car by a soft grip on her elbow. Always so gentle with her, no matter how angry he was. It was something about her that had always surprised her. How vicious and hard his touch could be with anyone but her, even when he was silently simmering on ways to kill her.

“If you’re going to do something stupid I need you to tell me Aelin,” he ground out as they each got into their respective sides of the car. She said absolutely nothing as she buckled her seatbelt, which only prompted him to reach over and grab her hand before she could get it to click. She raised her eyes to his, the green of them dark under and angry in the dim light of the car. “I can’t help you if you don’t let me.”

“I could hear your shouts from outside. What was that about?” She asked instead, pushing the belt into the buckle. Rowan let go of her hand and sat back, rubbing his hands over his face.

“Their witness. She isn’t who she says she is and if they were smart enough they would have figured it out. It only took me a handful of hours of digging to find it. That jackass didn’t even try. And, you were right. About the dirty agent. Whoever the dirty agent is, is the agent that recreated that girls life into becoming Kaltain Rompier.” Aelin didn’t say anything as Rowan shifted the car into drive, she simply gazed out the window as they drove.

“My car is-“

“Aedion has already retrieved his car from Maeve’s house. Seriously Aelin, what the fuck were you thinking-“

“That I NEED ANSWERS,” she shouted, unable to stay calm anymore. Her mind was reeling, it was angry. Her heart and her soul were raw and broken and nothing she was doing made the slightest of difference. “I. Need. Answers. And nobody is doing enough-“

“You don’t think I’m trying? For Gods sake I’m doing everything I can but you have to let me help you, you cannot just walk into the person’s home that may have played part in kidnapping you, Aelin. You just – you can’t fucking do that,” he said, his voice growing softer the closer he got to the end of his sentences. Aelin looked over at him, took in the pain that was written so plainly on his face and had been since she had returned. What was she doing to him? Her return had only made his life harder, more difficult from the moment he pulled her from that tank.

Having lost track of time, she was surprised when he put the car in park on the street below Aedion’s apartment. Had she really been staring at him for that long? She unbuckled her seatbelt, rubbing the hollow of her throat as it threatened to close up with panic. Aelin sat back in the seat, closing her eyes as she steadied herself with several deep breaths. Rowan merely watched her carefully, eyes narrowed like a hawk ready to descend on his prey.

“Are you okay?” Soft. His voice was soft, and when she looked at him, so were his eyes now.

“No. I’m not,” she sad flatly, letting herself out of the car and disappearing into the apartment moments later.

~*~

Willow was beaming wildly when she crawled out of the backseat of Lyria’s car and took off like a bolt toward Aelin, silver hair flowing behind her as she reached her mother, throwing her arms around her middle when she reached her. Aelin ducked her head down to press a kiss to the top of her head, smiling just as hard. Willow wore a black leotard with baby pink tights with ballet flats, a loose chiffon-life tutu tied around her waist at her hip.

“Willow we still need to do your bun,” Lyria called, her gaze shifting and staying on Aelin.

“I can do it,” Aelin said, running her hand over the uniquely colored hair that she’d only ever seen on Willow’s father. Her daughter somehow smiled wider as she looked up at her mom, Ashryver eyes meeting Ashryver eyes. Aelin winked and nodded toward the door for the dance studio, taking Willow’s hand and leading her inside. They settled in a chair, Willow kneeling on the ground before her. A moment later, Lyria entered the building and handed Aelin the supplies to make a successful bun, which Aelin knew how to do all to well from her own dancing background.   
She took her time, relishing in being able to help Willow prepare for dance class. It had been something of her childhood that she had cherished being able to do with her mother, even when dance had been so hard some days that she’d cried into her mothers shirt and begged her to quit. She hadn’t, though. Dancing until she was eighteen, debating on going into a company until she decided on the FBI.

Aelin tucked the final pin into place, then kissed the top of that silver-y hair just before Willow skipped into class, taking her seat on the ground and beginning to stretch. Twice, Willow turned to point at Aelin, who waved at her with a grin, as she told her friends and her teacher that her mommy was here to watch her rehearse today.

Lyria sat in the seat next to Aelin, the two mothers watching their child dance and twirl over the wooden floors, watched as Willow caught Aelin’s eye through the window more than once. Lyria shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“I didn’t know you’d be here today,” she said at last, unable to look at the woman to her right.

“Ro must have forgot. He texted me this morning to tell me she had rehearsal. He should be coming by soon, too,” Aelin’s eyes didn’t leave Willow, the slight smile didn’t leave her face. When she was dying in that tank, she didn’t think she would ever have moments like this ever again. She never thought she’d get to see Willow at a dance recital, in those elaborate costumes that Aelin herself had worn for so many years and loved so much. Lyria murmured something under her breath, and it was the first time Aelin moved her eyes from her tiny dancer to look at the woman beside her. “Sorry? I didn’t catch that.” Something fierce flashed in Aelin’s eyes, but Lyria didn’t have time to answer when Rowan rushed in, dropping a kiss onto Lyria’s head. His hand shot out toward Aelin, and he hesitated then, as though he wanted to do one thing but was unable with Lyria next to them both, so Aelin smacked it in an attempt to diffuse the tension with a high five. Rowan’s lips twitched as he dropped into the only empty seat next to Aelin, waving at Willow as she caught his gaze and waved, ‘Hi Daddy!’ Clearly being squealed behind the glass. It warmed Aelin’s heart, the way that she loved her father so.

“You okay?” He asked, leaning a little closer to Aelin, who nodded.

“Don’t think she is so that may be a talk for later,” her voice was low enough that Lyria couldn’t hear, but Aelin wasn’t dumb enough to think she wasn’t straining her ears to listen. At normal volume she added, “Is everything okay with the investigation?”

“You know I can’t tell you anything,” he pointed out, then sighed, opening his lips to go on but Aelin shook her head.

“You don’t break rules, Rowan. Don’t start now.” Aelin crossed one leg over the other and leaned forward, elbow on her knee and chin in her hand. She could see the look Lyria was giving Rowan behind her back, could sense Rowan shift beside her, likely shrugging a shoulder, something that was always his go-to when he didn’t want to cause more conflict by using his dumb, male words. She couldn’t help the way her mouth ached to smile, could help even less that she actually did. Rowan’s shoe nudged the heel of her own. Aelin shrugged imperceptibly, and Rowan coughed a laugh. Another look from Lyria, another shrug from Rowan. Aelin’s face fell into her hands as she snorted a laugh, and hearing the way Lyria got to her feet and left the room, the closing of the door earning her a pinch at her side from Rowan.

“I’m sorry,” she laughed, leaning back in her chair. She looked over at Rowan, his eyes were squinted from his own laughter. “You are not the least bit different, are you?” Rowan flicked her nose as he stood to his feet, but Aelin shook her head. “I’ll go. She won’t believe you if you say I wasn’t laughing at her.” Rowan snorted as he sat back down in the chair, and Aelin made her way outside.

Lyria was standing in the grass, staring out after some trees that made up the backyard of the business. Aelin approached her carefully, marking the way that Lyria took in a deep breath, obviously ready to let Rowan have it.

“I wasn’t laughing at you,” Aelin said, and Lyria started from her position and turned, surprise clearly written on her face. “He used to do it to me. He still would, I’m sure, he just. It’s funny to not be on the end that you’re on, it was…this is hard for me. You’re married to my husband but I…was dead and now I’m not so I know it’s hard for you, too. You’re mothering my daughter, sleeping with my husband, and I’m so out of my league and I know you don’t like me-“

“I never said I didn’t like you,” Lyria said, but it was too defensive.

“If it were swapped, I wouldn’t like you either. I can just, tell, and you don’t need to like me. But my daughter, she is my number one priority and despite the fact that I wasn’t laughing at you inside, I don’t have to be nice to you either if I think that you aren’t what’s in her best interest,” Aelin toed the gravel, her eyes not leaving Lyria’s brown ones. The other woman didn’t say anything, so Aelin nodded, offered her a wide grin, then turned and went back inside, leaving Lyria to turn Aelin’s words over in her mind until Willow’s rehearsal was over.

 


	8. i love you

_Everything was covered in blood. Everything smelled like blood, like bleach. The chemical and metallic scents mingling with burning intensity, singeing his nose. It felt raw to breathe, even more raw to speak as he stumbled through their bedroom, unable to fully process the scene he was presented with. He couldn’t think, his hands shaking so hard it was difficult to dial the right number sequence on his phone. He had never felt such a terror, would never feel such horror again._

_  
He screamed her name over and over, his voice cracking and breaking like leaves and twigs under feet in the woods. Rowan’s body was frozen solid from the _inside__ out, the ice in his soul not unlike the ninth circle of Dante’s inferno. His mind and body was numb, filled with novocaine as he picked her ring up off her nightstand. The large emerald complimented the blood that was splattered and pooled about their room, the now gruesome colors of Christmas etched and burned in his mind.  
  
He stumbled backwards out of the bedroom, feet knocking into a solid barrier as he fell and fell and fell until he hit solid ground, the breath knocked out of him. He wasn’t in their bedroom or their house for that matter. The earthy smell combined with a specific and musty scent that burned almost as bad as the chemical scent of bleach. He was in that room under the cabin, and as he rushed forward to that tank, that Gods damned tank, he was choking on sobs and tears. He was screaming, wailing, the voice primal and inhuman – her body floated at the top of the tank, lifeless, waterlogged –  
  
He launched himself into a sitting position, the cable knit blanket that had been draped over his body sliding over the edge of the couch  to pool on the floor. Rowan didn’t hesitate as he forced himself to his feet, shoving his feet into his tennis shoes that rested by the leg of the coffee table. He was moving in a blind panic, similar to the way he had been the day he had come home and discovered their room covered in her blood. The jacket he’d worn after his workout was still draped over the back of one of the living room chairs, and he grabbed it as he ran out the door, pulling it on as he took off running down the street.

It was raining so hard that he was soaked to the bone in seconds, his water saturated sweats getting heavier with every passing minute, yet he didn’t stop, didn’t slow. Rowan pushed through, running as fast and as hard as he could, unable to even fully process what he was doing. Driving would have been easier, but he was shaking so hard he didn’t think operating a vehicle would have been good for anyone involved. So he ran, as fast and as hard as he could with his heart thundering beneath his ribs and his breath hard and shallow. He didn’t stop running until he reached Aedion’s apartment. Rowan banged on the door so hard that he thought his knuckles might break, his fist slamming into the door over and over until he heard the locks turn.

When the door swung open, she stood there wearing an oversized t-shirt and socks up to her knees. Her hair had a wave to it and hung down to her waist, her eyes bright and completely awake. She opened the door wider, brows furrowed and lips in a confused pout.

“What the hell are you - did you run here?” she asked incredulously, the same thing he’d said to her a few days ago when she had shown up on his doorstep in the middle of the night. Rowan was frozen in place as he looked at her, took in the paleness of her skin, the guantness of her face. Things that were proof of her trauma that she had experienced, yet she stood before him with her head cocked to the side, a brow quirked in curiosity. She was okay. Aelin was alive. Aelin was not dead.

Before he could stop himself, rationalize anything at all, his hands were gripping her face and he was kissing her with a ferocity he had long forgotten. The taste of her was intoxicating, was like a drug that he had tried to quit and now that it was on his lips he never wanted to forget the taste of it again. Kissing Aelin was like he had been drowning, like he had been lost beneath waves for years and was just now able to get his first cold and crisp breath of fresh air. It was invigorating to his senses, awakening him and soothing him. She was a tether to the world and he knew not how he survived so long without her, knew that if he lost her again it would kill him.

When he felt her melt into him, when he felt her hands slide around his neck something in him snapped and he lifted her, fingers digging into her thighs as he carried her to her bedroom, not caring at all that Aedion was down the hall. They collapsed in a heap of tangled limbs on the bed, Aelin working to free him of his waterlogged clothing that had soaked her t-shirt completely through. He dropped his jacket to the floor, threw his shirt and his pants into the pile as he climbed over her and ripped at the shirt she wore. His shirt, he realized. It was one of his shirts that had likely been in the bags and boxes of her belongings that they had pulled from the garage. Something primally male wanted to groan in satisfaction, was pleased beyond belief that she still craved to wear his clothing.

It didn’t take long for them to both be completely free of clothing, her fingers pressing into the hard, corded muscle that coiled his body. His mouth nipped and licked along her jaw and the column of her neck and he couldn’t help but relish in the sounds that he coaxed from her, the sounds he’d thought he’d never hear again.

  
And then he was pushing  _inside_ her, their movements a sharp and hard frenzy. Neither of them had time to pause and think, neither had the time or patience for foreplay. It wasn’t necessary as they moved against each other, Rowan thrusting into her hard and fast. Their kisses were all teeth and tongue, open mouthed and messy. His hands laced together with hers above her head as he thrust harder still, faster, until both of them had heaving chests. Both of them cursed and moaned, breathing heavy and hard into each others’ mouths as though they were the only air supply the other needed.

Aelin’s legs hitched around his waist, heels pressing into his lower back as though urging him deeper and harder. It was messy, maybe the messiest they had ever made love, but it was a primal urge and need that both of them required. Rowan because he needed to know she was real and okay, Aelin because despite all her traumas she needed to feel his hard body against hers, to feel close to the man she loved so deeply and fiercely that he had been her last thought before she surely died. The quiet, breathy whispers and confessions Rowan whispered in her ear forged and solidified her broken and aching heart.

“I love you,” he breathed, his lips tracing the words on her skin. “Fuck, I missed you so much.” Her eyes rolled back in her head as her mouth fell open, returning the words against his skin, her voice barely perceptible as he moved against her. Rowan pulled them up so they were sitting, her legs wrapped around his waist as she moved on him. Their foreheads were pressed together, breathing each other in as she urged them both closer and closer to release. Aelin couldn’t stop her hands from roving over his scarred skin, and his returned the favor, running over the long lines of the scars that plagued her back. “You’re beautiful,” he told her, capturing her lips again with fervor as he jerked his hips up into hers. “So fucking beautiful.”

“I love you,” Aelin’s voice was too high, so breathy as her hands wrapped tightly around his shoulders, her mouth catching his with a kiss that seared them both, the two of them burning and burning against each other. The sounds of skin on skin, of their heavy breathing, of their moans consumed them both as they clung to the other and Aelin let out a gasping sob as pleasure became all consuming, as pleasure threatened to burn her alive.

Rowan’s movements became harder and staggered, rough and deep as he thrust into her a final time as they both climaxed, both of them gripping each other tightly as their mouths once again clashed together. It was fueled by passion and need, and when he collapsed on top of her and kissed her again, it became soft and loving. Loving as his hands trialed over her bare skin, soft as his lips gently caressed the skin of her jaw. Aelin’s hands went from scratching and leaving crescent moons across his back to making languorous motions, soothing motions until he rolled off of her, staring at the ceiling with their legs still tangled together. They were quiet, arms touching down to the backs of their hands until Rowan laced their fingers and pulled her hand to rest on his stomach. Aelin could feel the contractions of his body as he breathed heavily, and it took almost too much effort to not watch the hypnotizing motions of his breathing.

Rowan’s thumb brushed along hers in a soothing motion and Aelin’s eyes closed, unable to shake how perfect and right being with Rowan felt despite their current situation. Despite him being married to another woman. The impossible situation began to weigh on her as she shifted onto her side but didn’t release his hand.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” she told him softly, her eyes gazing upon his face, that face she had so often seen frustrated and brooding as of late, but now laying beside her he looked relaxed, at peace. He hummed in response, eyes remaining closed as Aelin swirled her fingernail over the whorls of his tattoo. He turned his head then to look at her, his fingers brushing along her cheekbones.

“Shouldn’t we have?” He mused, thumb flicking over her full bottom lip. Her eyes narrowed slightly when they met his, something bright flickering in his gaze as he looked over at her. There was a certain reverence in the way he appraised her, in the way his hands brushed over her skin. Right. This was right, but she shook her head anyway. “It takes two t-”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. I said we shouldn’t have done it, not that I regretted it.”

“You don’t?” He asked, and Aelin opened her eyes, brow furrowed only just as she leaned over to press a kiss to his shoulder, his throat, his mouth. Rowan’s hand tangled in her hair, holding her to him for a moment longer before she pulled away enough to look at him, shaking her head slightly. “Would you do it again?”

“Depends on which ring you’re wearing,” she snarked, in turn making Rowan let out a snort as he pulled her mouth back to his. Aelin felt high, felt a buzz like she had never felt before as she kissed him lazily, as though they had all the time in the world. But they didn’t, and it struck her like a bolt of lightning as she pulled away and exhaled slowly. “Go home Rowan. We can’t…we can’t do this. ” The words hurt, made her heart ache but he nodded, dropping another soft kiss to her temple before he rolled out of her bed and dressed, the soaked clothes now a little drier than they had been when he stumbled into the apartment. Rowan paused in the doorway, glancing back at her over his shoulder. He opened his mouth to say something but she shook her head. He didn’t need to say it. “I know.”

* * *

Aelin hadn’t been particularly worried about being a suspect in Arobynn Hamel’s murder. Despite there being her DNA on his body, their witness had completely fallen through. Raven Penhollow, formerly known as Kaltain Rompier, was a money launderer for Hamel, and once that came out, the detectives had been unable to contact or locate her. The phone number she left behind was now inactive, likely linked to a burner cell that was now at the bottom of the Avery. With their witness being a fraud, it made the case weak and was enough to instill reasonable doubt in a jury. For all they knew, Hamel could have been keeping Aelin in the cabin, or at least helping whoever had done it, and gotten her dna on his body that way. So Aelin hadn’t been worried.

Until a few days after she broke into Maeve Thornbriar’s house and the woman turned up dead, floating in her pool face down for the pool boy to find on Monday morning. It didn’t look particularly good for her, having broken into Maeve’s house mere days ago. Aelin had motive. Motive to kill Maeve, possibly motive to kill Arobynn. It was all the police needed, really. So when Rowan sat down across from Aelin and told her that there was a warrant issued for her arrest, she really thought she was going to lose it.

She was shaking so hard that her teeth chattered, the sound nearly echoing in her skull. All color had drained from her complection, she felt cold and numb and like the entire world was caving in on her. Aelin couldn’t breathe, couldn’t process. She was going to be arrested for murder and nobody would ever know she didn’t do it.

It was then that her mind went into overdrive. No, she wouldn’t be arrested. No, she wouldn’t turn herself in, she wouldn’t let anyone take her from her daughter. Not again. So she brought her eyes to meet Rowan’s and said, “I want to see Willow first.”

“Okay,” he said quietly, nodding toward the front door. She followed him, stayed quiet on the car ride to his house. She didn’t say much until she was sitting on the couch with her daughter standing before her. Aelin smoothed her hand over her braid, taking in how absolutely stunning her little girl was, how brave and smart. Saying goodbye to her was like pulling her physical heart out of her chest, breaking every rib along the way. But it was necessary. Necessary so that Willow knew her mother loved her, knew that her mother did everything for her. Willow and Rowan were the things that fueled Aelin, that kept her working toward figuring out what the hell was happening, who was so hellbent on tearing her life apart.

How had she gone from being locked in a tank, left to drown, to accused of murder in two weeks time? She had just got her life back, and while it wasn’t back to  _normal_ , she could hope that it would become _normal_ soon, she could hope that everything would calm down to a simmer and she could have a moment to catch her breath. But now wasn’t the time for that. Now was the time to fight for herself because the police stopped doing it.

Aelin and Willow sat on her bed, talking in hushed tones to have all the privacy possible. Aelin whispered sweet nothings into her baby’s ear, words of affirmation and her love for her daughter, that no matter what she would always come back, she would come back, she would come back. Promises were made, things that they would do together once everything was over, the life that they would have. And then Aelin was gone.

“Aelin?” Rowan knocked on the door to Willow’s room to find Willow alone on her bed, scribbling something in her journal. “Where’s mom, love?”  Willow shrugged.

“Bathroom? I’m not sure,” she said. “She said she had to do what needs to be done.” Rowan blanched, color draining from his face as he knocked on the bathroom door which swung open, revealing the window open wide.

“Aelin!” He ran to the window, looking out into the backyard but saw nothing of her, so he turned and ran  _outside_ , circling the house as he yelled her name. “Fuck. FUCK!” He swore as he ran for his car. Aelin Galathynius was now a fugitive on the run.


	9. i never stopped

“Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME?!” The detective roared, throwing the file in his hand at the wall. The papers  _inside_ of it slipped out, cascading around the room like snowfall. Rowan leaned against the wall by the door, his hands in his pockets, eyes closed as he relived the events of the day. How Aelin had ran by slipping out like a thief in the night, her only message that she had to do what needed to be done. Rowan was furious, his blood a boiling cauldron beneath his skin. There were about a thousand reasons he was angry, angry with himself, angry with the detective and his justice system, even a little angry with Aelin herself but not for obvious reasons. “If I find out you had anything to do with this I will nail you to the wall where you stand.”

Rowan tried not to snort, really, he did. The detective was several inches shorter than him and, despite his muscular physique, Rowan could knock him on his ass in his sleep. “Don’t threaten me, Cortland. If I hear from her I’ll let you know.”

Would he though? He couldn’t decide. Obviously there was a lot more going on than any of them had realized, Aelin at the core of it all. But why? Her dirty agent theory had been going over in his mind constantly, he’d become paranoid about who he could and couldn’t trust in the bureau. The only person he knew he could trust was Fenrys and that had more to do with him being such a shit liar that he’d never even been allowed to go undercover.

Rowan ran his hand over his mouth as he got into his car, mind racing as he racked his brain for places that Aelin could have gone. The police would be checking the obvious places, Aedion’s, his parents, probably even Rowan’s. There were a handful of places he could check that he knew no one would think to, but that didn’t necessarily matter. It wasn’t about where she could go but where she would go. Aelin didn’t care about shelter. She cared about answers. So Rowan threw his car into drive and sped off into the night.

~*~

The first thing that she did was duck into a convenient store and buy a box of cheap hair dye and some scissors, along with a burner cell that she could use to contact anyone if she needed to. With shaking hands, she chopped her hair off just passed her shoulders and made quick work of dying her hair in the sink. It was late, there was nobody around to document her suspicious behavior. Who else colored their hair in a gas station bathroom? Only criminals and people in movies.

She had enough faith in Rowan that he wouldn’t tell them the correct description of what he last saw her wearing that she didn’t completely bother to change her clothes. She would have to go into a bigger store for that and she just couldn’t afford to take the risk. Maybe tomorrow she would duck by a vendor cart downtown and snag a new sweater, but until then, she would lay  _low_ with what she had on her back.

Fearlessly, she trekked into the woods behind the gas station, making her way at least a hundred feet in before she sat down against a tree trunk and turned the cell phone on. Aedion was her first and only call that she had to make, but even has her fingers typed in his phone number she ached to contact Rowan and apologize, to tell him where she was and what she needed to do.

“Hello?”

“Aedion, I don’t have much time but I need you to listen to me. They want to arrest me for murder. But I ran. I ran and I don’t have time to explain but I just need you to know it wasn’t me. I didn’t kill those people. I don’t know what the fuck is going on but I have to figure it out before it kills me. I need you to look out for Willow and Rowan. I don’t know who is doing this to me but I have to figure it out. I have to. I can’t go to jail and leave it up to the police to figure it out because they don’t want to help me and I—”

“Breathe, Aelin. We’ll figure it out. Tell me what you need me to do,” despite his best efforts, his voice shook.

“Just watch out for them. Please. I’ll call you when I can I just— I needed to let you know I was safe. Tell Rowan I’m safe. I have to go. I love you,” and then she disconnected the call, flipping the phone shut in her palm. Aelin leaned back against the tree and shut her eyes, her mind racing a thousand thoughts per second. She pulled the gun she’d stolen from Rowan’s nightstand out of her waist band, tracing her finger along the shape of it. She was reeling, burrowing deeper and deeper into her thoughts as she overanalyzed everything that she was able to remember. Aelin needed help. Desperately, but she didn’t know where to go, who to turn to.

So many questions wrecked her, questions she couldn’t figure out the answers to. Who was doing this to her? Why? Why was she being so blatantly framed? Who was the crooked agent behind Kaltain Rompier? Who had kept her in that tank? That room?

The last time she had brought up the topic of a crooked agent to the director, he—

Aelin started from where she sat on the forest floor, staggering to her feet and stumbling a few paces forward, the gun nearly falling from her hands. The director. Dorian Havilliard I. Of fucking course. Aelin couldn’t stop herself as she forced herself to her feet, and took off running.

~*~

When she arrived at the director’s house, there were no cars parked in the driveway or under the carport. It was a Friday, and she knew how often he and his wife, Georgina, went on weekend vacations, which made what she was here to do all the more easily. She skirted around to the back of the house and jimmied at the windows, just to see if any of them were unlocked and would make her job easier. They weren’t, but it didn’t matter. Aelin could pick a lock in her sleep using just about anything: a hair pin being her current weapon of choice.

Once the lock of the back door tumbled, she quietly slipped inside. She kept her footsteps light just in case someone did happen to be home, and she crept through the house until she reached his study.

The door to Dorian’s study was a heavy oak door that he kept locked at all times. It was too easy for her to get the lock to tumble in that door, too. Really, what was the point when anyone that wanted to get into these doors could probably do it with half a thought like she had? She decided it was a mental security blanket and crept into the study, pulling her old cell phone from her pocket and turning it on. She used the flashlight to sneak around the green carpeted room, using the white light to read the books on the shelves, to sift through the drawers of his desk. She slumped in his leather office chair, swiveling back and forth as she thought, her eyes raking over every inch of the room, even the ceiling, when she noticed that the air vent seemed to be hanging down at one corner as though it weren’t installed all the way. Aelin started from where she sat, clearing the room in three long strides until she was climbing onto the small settee and tugging at the vent until it broke free. She plunged her hand into utter darkness, patting around until her fingers grasped a leather bound book that she ripped from the hole.

Hopping down from the settee, she sat and began flipping through what appeared to be a journal. Not much piqued her interest until she was about halfway through and found pages upon pages of information on her disappearance. The circumstances, the evidence, his thoughts and opinions. She flipped to the next page and froze, every muscle in her body pulled completely taught as the journal slipped from her fingers, falling to the floor with a dull thud. Her heart was in her throat, poundingpoundingpounding. Because sketched over and over on the pages was the object of her nightmares — that damn skewered eye. He’d drawn it at least a dozen times.

Once the shock faded, she picked up the journal with shaking hands and looked at the page again. The next page had a symbol drawn, a symbol that looked strikingly similar to the eye she kept seeing in her nightmares, but it was just a symbol. A symbol that tugged at the edges of her mind, stuck behind a wall that was seal with the only lock she couldn’t pick.

With shaking hands she took a photo of the page and returned the journal to its hiding spot and let the directors house as she had left it, unsure of where to go next. What she truly needed was her parents, her mom and dad that might be able to unravel the ball of yarn that had become her life. But they were dead, and had been since she was eight. It wasn’t safe to go to Aedion right now, nor was it safe to go to his parents. She just needed answers, needed to talk to anyone that had been around for earlier parts of her life that might know something, anything. With a heavy sigh, she flipped the hood of her jacket up and started running.

~*~

It was a little after nine pm when she began to knock on the wooden door of a house she had spent all too much time at. His truck was in the driveway, an ugly thing she’d hated driving around town in. Heavy footsteps sounded from  _inside_ and Aelin cocked the gun just as the door swung open to reveal the man she had dated from high school to college: Chaol Westfall.

“A gun? Seriously?” He rub a hand over his face and stepped to the side, allowing her to step in. Aelin dropped down onto his couch, her leg immediately beginning to bounce anxiously.

“Sit down, Chaol,” she said flatly, the lines of her face hard as she clenched her jaw. He rubbed his hands together slowly as he sat, leaning forward on his elbows. He was sitting in the chair across the room from her, the tv on but muted, images flashing light and colors in the dimly lit space. Aelin shifted, resting the gun against the arm rest.

“Is that really necessary? We dated for five years, Aelin, and you’re going to point a gun at me?”

“I know you’ve seen the news by now, and I know Dorian was here a few days ago and he wouldn’t ever say anything to break confidentiality but I know he’d tell you he was repping me. You could call the police and turn me in, it’s not like we’re on good terms,” Aelin’s eyes were alight with flame as she watched him, finger tracing the curved shape of the trigger. “I need to know if you—”

The next few seconds happened too quickly for her to register as he whipped a gun seemingly out of nowhere and fired. It hit her  _low_ in her abdomen, and her hand immediately went to the wound. Part of her couldn’t believe it, but part of her could. They hadn’t been on good terms since her split, he held it against her. He’d been angry at her since a week or so before she broke up with him, and she’d been angry at him since he was the reason her best friend and roommate died in a car accident. Chaol had been driving the car. Aelin had never forgiven him.

“A gun?” She grit out. “Seriously?”

Her fingers were coated in her own blood as she stumbled to her feet. Chaol was already on the phone, muttering words to the 911 operator, but Aelin couldn’t hear him. She couldn’t hear anything over the loud ringing in her ears, could barely see as she knocked the lamp off the end table as she tripped out the back door and fell to her knees. Aelin could hardly breathe, each breath becoming more and more shallow as she shoved herself back to a standing position and did her best to run.

Aelin had her fingers pressed hard against the wound, able to feel how much blood she was losing both by touch and by the way she got more and more lightheaded with every step. She kept moving though, if by the sheer grace of Mala herself, disappearing through the trees to cut through. There was a park just beyond the tree line, and if she got far enough away she could hide long enough to figure out her next move. So she kept moving, one foot in front of the other until she reached the park, reached the fort and ducked under the archway and collapsed on the grass of the ground floor. She shoved her hand into her jean pocket, gasping in pain as she grabbed her phone, fingers fumbling and shaking as she pressed Rowan’s contact for a call. Blood was traced over the screen but she sandwiched it between her shoulder and ear anyway, pressing both hand on the wound to try to staunch the bleeding.

“Aelin?”

“Baby,” she breathed, her vision becoming black around the edges as tears started to slip down her cheeks.

Aelin was scared. The most scared that she had been since the initial fear of being kidnapped, because after she was abducted she quickly realized it was about her torture and not killing her. Death would have been welcome most days, she would have accepted it and welcomed it like an old friend. But as she lay under a fort on a playground, her blood spilling onto the green grass, she had never been so scared of dying. She had just gotten Willow back, Willow had just gotten her mom back, and now she was going to die.

“Aelin, what’s wrong?” If she had been focused, she would have heard the shaking in his voice, she would have heard keys jingling in the background as he rushed through the house.

“I’m at the park we used to bring Willow. The one off Grapevine, do you remember?” Her voice was high and breathy, every word took so much effort.

“Of course I remember. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I think I’m going to die,” her voice cracked, and so did her heart, the idea of Willow having to watch her mother be buried, had to believe that her mom was dead for a second time. “There’s so much blood, Rowan, I can’t…fuck I can’t..get it to stop,” her voice went in and out, so much that she almost sounded like she was losing signal. Really, it was just energy and blood that she was losing. “I’m in the fort.”

“Fuck. Fuck. What happened? Baby what happened? Tell me what happened, I’m on my way.”

Sweat trickled down her brow as she rest her head back against the wood and closed her eyes.

“I love you, you know? I never stopped…never, for a single second did I….stop. It’s important to me, Ro, that….that you….you know. Take care…of our baby.” There were tears flooding down her cheeks and Aelin didn’t know what was from pain of the wound in her abdomen and what resonated from the pain of her heart.

“Aelin, godsdamn it baby, I love you, and you are not dying. Do you hear me? You are not dying. I didn’t just get you back to lose you all over again,” he was almost yelling, his accent the heaviest she’d ever heard it as her consciousness slipped, eyes rolling back in her head.

Her phone tumbled down her chest.

And then, everything went black.


	10. my blood and soul

For the last seven years, he had been unable to get it out of his head that Aelin’s blood was on his hands. If he had just crawled back into bed with her when she asked and stayed home, nobody would have been able to take her that day. All of her blood spilled across their room, all of her blood spilled while she was held and tortured for seven years… it was all on his hands.

And now, as he kneeled next to her unconscious body, his shaking hands were literally sticky with her blood. Tears completely clouded his vision. He felt like he was living in one of his nightmares, the ones where he’d been responsible for her dying. One of the ones where he tried to staunch the bleeding as it began to spew out of her, blood that coated his hands and ran as red as the blood that had been all over their bedroom when he had come home.  He felt as though he were in that room again, the metallic scent of her fresh blood coating his skin, burning his nostrils as he stared down at her body. Nothing in his nightmares, nothing in his dreams ever would have prepared him for how it really felt to have his hands wet with her blood, the color of it, the smell of it, almost sending him into a spiral of madness.

In too many ways, it was like he’d stumbled into a crime scene she’d not made it out of, where there had been too much blood everywhere for her to have survived. The color that stained his skin, stained her clothes and her hair, was a color that he had spent so many years avoiding. A color he couldn’t look at or see without his heart going haywire, without the panic crashing through his body like the waves in a storm. If it weren’t for the slow rising and falling of her chest, he would have been screaming and shaking her limp form to wake her.

Rowan took a shaky breath and closed his eyes, pushing himself to his feet as he went to the bathroom to wash his hands again for the fifth time since he laid her down so he could begin to properly patch her up. He looked at his reflection in the mirror and saw a distressed man with blood on his face and in his hair staring back at him. He’d managed to stop the bleeding already— one of the ways this was already proving to be different than his nightmares— but getting the bullet out and sewing her up was going to be another story entirely.

He returned to his spot, kneeling next to Aelin and trailing his eyes over her blood-soaked torso. He could make out scars of various shapes and sizes engraved on her skin, a mixture of new and old. Rowan picked up the bottle of whiskey that rest at his side and took a long swig of it, willing the burning liquid to ease his nerves and cure his shaking hands.

It was then that he looked at the array of tools that were lined up on the tarp and splashed some whiskey over them. He’d already burned the metal pieces with flame, willing the fire to burn away any trace of bacteria. Now the whiskey would work as a disinfectant. He’d only had so many options— the gas station didn’t have much and there was a cheap liquor store next door. Leaving her in the motel while he ran across the street had been hard enough; he couldn’t even think about driving five miles to the closest store. He’d work with what he had available to him, and it would have to make do.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he whispered, smoothing a broad hand down her hair. Biting his lip, he kneeled back next to her and doused his hands in the whiskey. Would it do much? He didn’t know.

She was utterly still, the only movement the rising and falling of her chest, the slight flutter of her lashes as her eyes moved behind her eyelids. Her skin was pale, so very pale that he could see the blue-ish spiderwebs of her veins beneath her skin. There was no color to her, no flush to her cheeks that made her look younger. It was hard to picture her as he knew her, hard to picture her with red swollen lips and rosy cheeks when her lips were almost as pale as the rest of her skin, so wan and cracked. Aelin was entirely too thin from years in captivity, only adding to the sickly nature that the bullet wound and blood loss gave her. There was no sign of his wildefire love, of the girl that had spun around him laughing wildly as they danced at their wedding. She didn’t even look the same, didn’t look quite like her. Something about the sheen of sweat over her skin had her looking more like a waxy corpse. It was like staring at his worst fear, like living a nightmare. Had she not been noticeably breathing, he may have completely lost his mind.

Rowan had patched up many bodies before, bodies that belonged to his men that had been shot in battle. Shitty patchwork jobs were pretty much his specialty at this point, but doing it on the love of his life? That was a different story altogether. Everything in his body screamed at the thought of causing her pain, it was why his damn hands were shaking so badly, but it was necessary. To save her life, he would stab her with a knife if that’s what he had to do. Anything. He would do absolutely anything.

He took one more swig and then used a bowl of water to wet some gauze. He cleaned her abdomen as best as he could to get most of the blood off— she would have to wake a shower later— then soaked another gauze pad with the alcohol and swiped it all over her stomach, just as a precaution. Taking a deep breath, he picked up the long tweezers and braced himself on her torso. The bullet was about a centimeter below the surface of her skin; he could see it peeking out among the inner tissue of her body. When he found out who had done this to her, who had shot her, he would make them wish that they never had.

He’d just latched them onto the bullet when the screaming started.

The jolt of her body, the way she screamed, he felt it in his bones. It was the sound he’d heard a thousand times in every nightmare he’d ever had. The blood curdling screams that echoed in his skull, that set his blood cold and made his hands start shaking again. Gods, that scream, that sound, was so inhuman and so desperate. It was the worst sound Rowan had ever heard, a sound that would fuel every new nightmare that he would ever have about his Fireheart.  

Never did he think that reality would prove to be worse than his nightmares, but the sounds she made and the way her face contorted were worse than anything his mind had ever dreamed up. Every nightmare he’d ever had flashed before his eyes, now a blooming reality before him. Nightmares that had him out of bed only hours after mercifully falling asleep, staring at his reflection trying to ground himself, nightmares that he had tried to wash away with the hottest of showers. Nightmares that had distorted his reality so much that he’d had to spend hours sifting through his mind, hours telling himself what was real and not real. Nothing would ever wash this away, though. Nothing would wash away the visual of her face screwing up in pain, of the sound that rang through his ears. Nothing would stop him from all the new nightmares that would surely come as a result— now that he knew what she likely had looked and sounded like all those years she was kept away from him. It was like looking into a window and seeing what the past seven years had been like, and he felt physically ill from it. He didn’t think that a thousand lifetimes would ever exclude the nightmares that would surely come from this reality— nightmares that only she would be able to cure.

The tears that formed and spilled over did so immediately before the sound had even faded from her mouth. He was cursing, his hands brushing along her legs to try to soothe her. He reached out to brush a hand along her hair but she was forcing herself into a sitting position, struggling against the pain she likely felt. His heart was thundering in his chest as he said her name over and over, but she didn’t appear to be able to hear him; he kept trying, saying it louder and louder until she responded.

The blinding pain that shot through her entire body had her jolting where she lay. When her eyes managed to open, she immediately went to swing her arm at what could only be fingers at her side. Aelin couldn’t see, the pain so agonizing that her vision was obstructed by an explosion of stars. All she could hear was the rushing of blood and the pounding of her heart in her ears. A hand wrapped around her wrist, holding tight enough to restrain, but not so tight it hurt.

The hand released her wrist, evidently trusting that she wouldn’t swing at them again. Two broad hands gripped her shoulders, easing her until she was laying flat on her back again. Slowly, the room came into focus, and she could hear the voice that spoke to her. It was a low, rumbling voice that was speaking loudly as though trying to get her attention. A voice that had kept her sane for seven years. A voice she would never forget for as long as she lived.

“Fireheart,” he said, over and over until her body completely relaxed as she realized who it was that was trying to calm her. Rowan. A shaky breath exhaled from her lips, her eyes shifting around the room.

It was dimly lit, and she was laying on the floor on top of a tarp. There was a single brighter light, which turned out to be a flashlight laying on the floor near her leg. To her right, there was a bed, a nightstand with a lamp, and that was basically it. They were in a shitty cheap motel, likely one of the ones on the outskirts of Orynth.

She looked back at Rowan, who kneeled next to her. He looked completely exhausted and his hands were tinged with blood. Her blood. He brought his hand up to her face, brushing his fingers down her jaw. Aelin’s face was covered in a sheen of sweat and her complexion was pale, lips wan.

“You… you came for me,” she said weakly, the words barely a whisper.

“I will always come for you. I will always find you,” he told her, his voice steady and sure.

Aelin couldn’t find the energy to smile, so instead she touched his knee with her knuckle. It wasn’t much, but she was so depleted that he understood the sentiment.

“I’m going to have to get the bullet out and sew you up, love, or we won’t be able to get anywhere.”

Aelin nodded, trying not to cry. How had her life wound up here? Laying on the floor of a dirty motel with a bullet lodged in her side, her ex-husband— who never should be anything but simply her husband— on his knees with supplies to do a shitty patch job.

“Just get it over with,” she murmured, eyes fluttering closed. She was so, so tired.

Rowan’s fingers brushed her lips and she looked at him. He held a washcloth in his hand, rolled up. He didn’t have to tell her; she opened her mouth and let him put it between her teeth to bite through the pain. Rowan’s eyes were weary and worried as he picked up a pair of tweezers. He doused them with what looked like a bottle of whiskey, put the end of the flashlight between his teeth to aim it at the wound, then got to work.

Aelin bit the towel through the entire process, tears streaming down her face as she screamed into what felt like a bottomless void of pain. Rowan apologized over and over, especially once he began to sew her skin back together with a curved fishing needle and thick thread. He’d patched up many wounds on the battlefield when he was in the military; it wasn’t anywhere close to his first time sewing up a body. But it was his first time sewing up the love of his life, and her screams of pain could be felt at the very core of his soul.

When he was finished, he washed his hands of her blood and bandaged around her entire torso. It had been a struggle to get her to stand, most of her weight dangling around his neck as she did her best to stay on her feet while he wrapped the gauze around and around her thin frame. He had taken her shirt off to do it, leaving her body completely on display.

It had been hard to see the night they made love, but now in the lighting of the motel, he was able to see every single rib. He could feel each notch of her spine too well, each scar from whatever torture had been inflicted on her. Every rib protruded from her skin, he could count them too easily.

Tying the gauze ends together and tucking it under, he lifted her and carried her to the bed. As he tucked her beneath the covers, she caught his hand and brought it to her lips, pressing the softest of kisses to his knuckles. Rowan sat beside her then, brushing her hair back. They stayed that way until there was a knock at the door, causing Aelin to tense.

“It’s okay,” he told her, eyes grazing over her body to ensure she was alright before making his way to the door. Aelin watched from where she lay, a nervous flutter in the pit of her stomach.

Rowan seemed to relax when he opened the door, the tension in his shoulders disappearing as they slumped forward. His arms opened and two golden arms embraced him in a hug. Aelin heard him murmur a thanks, and he stepped to the side to let the man in.

“You look like shit,” Fenrys drawled, walking around to the other side of the bed and carefully laying next to her. Aelin couldn’t help but grin, holding up her fist that Fenrys bumped his against. Rowan stayed standing and Aelin turned her attention back to him for an explanation.

“I need to go get some things. Fenrys is going to stay with you until I’m back. I will be right back. An hour and a half tops. Okay?” Aelin nodded and Rowan dropped a kiss to the top of her head. She could she how conflicted he felt about leaving, but after a solid nod toward Fenrys he left.

“I guess finally sleeping together is off the table, huh?” Fenrys joked, earning a weak pinch from Aelin. He gave her a wide grin, and then they fell into an easy and familiar conversation, him filling her in on life over the last several years, and her listening with a head on his shoulder.

~*~

It was a fight as soon as he walked in the back door, having parked on the other side of the tree line behind their house. Willow was nowhere to be found, likely still sleeping as it was so early in the morning. Lyria, however, was standing at the kitchen counter with her hands braced against the granite.

“Where were you?” Her voice was more gentle than her face looked, which happened to look incredibly pissed off. Rowan ran his tongue over his teeth and sighed, running a hand down his face. “You were with her.” It wasn’t a question, but a flat statement.

“Lyria—”

“You’ve been distant ever since she came back. I’m not stupid, Rowan, but she’s wanted for murder.“

“Yes, I was with Aelin. She needs my help, Lyria. I don’t know what’s going on but I know she didn’t do any of the things she’s being accused of. She needs me.” His voice was tired. He was tired, and Rowan knew that the coming days would be even more exhausting.

“What about what I need?” Her voice had raised slightly, the words sharp.

She was touching her fingers to her chest for further emphasis. Rowan tried to ignore the tears in her eyes because he hated to make her cry. But Aelin coming back changed things for him. Rowan had spent months and weeks and years praying that she would show back up, only fully giving up on that hope when he decided to marry Lyria last year. He had hoped it would fill the void that Aelin had left behind. It did an okay enough job, but Aelin coming back… it changed everything.

“I will not abandon her again, Lyria. I won’t do it.” It was hard for him to keep his voice even, just like he knew it was hard for her to keep from yelling.

“I have supported you through ALL of this, Rowan. All of it. I was patient with you, I tried to help you through the nightmares, I raised our daughter—”

“Willow is not your daughter.” He said it so softly that the words were nearly imperceptible. Rowan knew it would hurt her, knew it was a  _low_ blow. But the way she was acting, like Aelin didn’t matter.

“I’m a better mother than Aelin ever could be. She’s wanted for murder—”

“And what the fuck do you know about Aelin, Lyria?” Rowan’s voice was low, a lethal quiet. Aelin was a phenomenal mother. From the moment she’d found out she was pregnant with Willow she had been the most amazing mother. She was still amazing now, the proof was in how often Willow begged to see Aelin.

“You’ll always pick her.” Not a question. A statement. Rowan clenched his jaw, moving his gaze from her face to lock on the wall behind her head. She let out a huff of a laugh, throwing her hands up. “Why didn’t you tell me when we started seeing each other that you couldn’t give me everything?”

“Because I didn’t KNOW,” Rowan’s hands came down on the counter hard and he paused, rubbing his face roughly.

“If I had known I never would have married you.” Her words were ice cold.

“If Aelin hadn’t been presumed dead I never would have even looked at you.” And there it was. There was such a sharp edge to his voice that it almost surprised both of them. Lyria literally staggered back a step as though he’d struck her physically, but Rowan didn’t move. His hands were still braced against the counter as they heard the stairs creak.

“Daddy?” Willow appeared in the kitchen, yawning and rubbing her eyes after having just woken up.

“Hey baby,” he dropped a kiss to the top of her head. “Why don’t you run up and get your stuff packed up. Clothes and pajamas. You’re going to stay at Nana and Papa’s for a few days.”

Willow squealed as she took off for the stairs. She loved spending time with Aedion’s parents, Aerin and Gavriel. They’d become surrogate grandparents since neither Rowan nor Aelin had living parents. He hadn’t anticipated needing them to watch her, he’d hoped Lyria would be willing but clearly that wasn’t going to be the case anymore. Part of him was scared that if he did leave her with Lyria, she would retaliate and take her, effectively kidnapping her. He didn’t really think it was something Lyria was capable of, but you never really know how people react when they’re desperate.

“I should call Detective Cortland and turn you in. Tell him everything,” Lyria said, pulling his gaze from the stairs where Willow had disappeared. Her phone was resting on the counter between them, and he shoved it towards her.

“Then fucking do it, Lyria,” he hissed, pushing off the counter and making his way to the stairs, taking them two at a time.

When he got to Willow’s room, she was already stuffing clothes into the duffle bag that she used for all her sleepovers. Rowan sat down on the bed, helping her squeeze as much as she could into the bag before she moved on to putting toys in her backpack.

“I’m going to be gone for a little while baby, and that’s why you’re going to Nana and Papa’s. Mommy needs my help. So I’m going to do everything I can to help her,” he said, watching her body language for any signs of distress, but she didn’t show any. She nodded, giving her dad a smile before she zipped up her bag.

“When you come back are we going to be a family again?” Willow asked, fidgeting with the zipper of her bag as though worried about the answer being no.

“Would you be okay with that? If Lyria wasn’t around anymore and it was you and me and mom?” Before he even had the words out Willow was nodding. Rowan smiled and kissed her head, then stood and swung her bag over his shoulder. He held out his other hand to her and she slipped her little fingers between his.

“Hey, Daddy?”

“Yes, love?” Rowan looked down at her, noting just how much she looked like her mother.

“Please bring mommy home.”

~*~

Rowan arrived back at the motel an hour and fifteen minutes later, staying true to his word. When he walked  _inside_ Aelin was sound asleep with her head on Fenrys’s shoulder. Fenrys carefully slipped out of bed, doing his best to not wake her.

“I won’t tell you where we’re going. And as far as I’m concerned you never saw us,” Rowan said to Fenrys, his eyes still running over Aelin’s sleeping form as though making complete sure that everything was okay with her. From where he stood, he could see her chest rising and falling with the deep breaths of sleep. Content she was okay, he looked to his friend.

“If you need anything, don’t hesitate, Rowan. You know I’d do anything for either of you.” Rowan nodded and clapped his friend on the shoulder. Fenrys returned the gesture and slipped out the front door, leaving Rowan to pack everything up around the room, to load up the car.  There was a lot on his plate, too much maybe, but for the recovering woman that lay on that bed, he would do anything. He would end his life, hell, he would bring the entire world to an end for her.

Rowan sat down on the edge of the bed next to Aelin, brushing his fingers along her cheekbone. Her eyes fluttered open, a crease appearing between her brows as she frowned into consciousness. When she saw that Rowan was back, her features softened, her hand coming up to take his. It was hard to believe they had ever spent so much time apart when being together again felt so natural.

“We need to leave here. We’re going to go to the cabin. Nobody will know to look for us there, nobody will be able to find us. And then we’ll figure out our next move while you rest and heal up a bit.”

“You’re going to come with  me?” Aelin’s brow furrowed again, not understanding entirely how it would be possible.

Rowan only nodded, that they would talk about it later being written on his face plain as day. She nodded instead of speaking, digging a palm into her eyes as he lifted her into his arms and carried her out to the car, depositing her in the partially reclined passenger seat. In the car, he’d stocked up on snacks and drinks, perfect for the drive, as well as snagged plenty more bandages and an entire first aid kit from his house. Once they were at the cabin, he would have enough time to get supplies before anyone from the bureau had time to register that he’d gone rogue with Aelin. He’d just started driving down the road when Aelin turned her head to look at him, the light coming back into her eyes, the color back to her cheeks.

“Thank you. For coming for me,” she said softly, her eyes tracing over his face. Rowan would have kissed her senseless if time wasn’t of the essence, if he wasn’t driving down the road at present. Instead, he reached over and laced their fingers together and dropped soft kisses across the tops of her knuckles.

  
“Your fire is in my blood and my soul. I will fight for you  for the rest of my life, will fight to find you in this lifetime and the next. Through every life and universe that we exist, I will find you. To whatever end,” he came to stop at a redlight, his eyes meeting hers again. Both of them had tears in their eyes as he recited part of his wedding vows to her, the meaning of it clear. She was his choice. She would always be his choice. And he would always be hers.

Her voice was unwavering as she echoed: “To whatever end.”


	11. what happened to you, love?

The drive to the cabin was less than pleasant. Aelin dozed in and out of sleep, awakening when she would get particularly painful shots of pain to her wound. 

It was a four hour drive deep into the Staghorn Mountains, swirling around a winding road, and then a tricky maneuver through a thick tree line.  The cabin was just through a path barely large enough for the SUV they drove to fit through, but once through the tree line, it was a breathtaking view. Nestled on a lake in the center of a ring of mountains was their cabin. 

It was completely off the map, without even a proper address attached to it. Someone in Rowan’s family had built it decades and decades ago, passed down through the Whitethorn Family. It wasn’t even listed as an asset that Rowan and Aelin had. 

It was an entire hour and a half away from the nearest village which had one general store and a string of fresh produce stands. Rowan had stopped on the way through and stocked up on food and other necessities while Aelin slept through it in the car. She didn’t wake until he hit an invisible hole while passing through the trees, but she wasn’t angry because she got to see that initial view of the lake with mountains reflected on its glassy surface. 

It took a bit of time for Rowan to transfer Aelin and their supplies inside. After he got her tucked in on the couch, he brought everything in from the car and let her rest. Once finished, he sat down at her feet and pulled them onto his lap, absently rubbing them while he thought to himself. 

“What are you thinking about?” She finally asked him, shifting slightly where she lay. Rowan let out a long breath and looked at her, his fingers never ceasing their movements as they traveled to her ankles. 

“Who is doing this to you and why they’re doing it,” he said, laying his head on the back of the couch. Aelin let out a sigh of her own, having wondered the same thing for the last several years and growing more impatient for answers every day. “Aelin, I - I need to know what happened to you. While you were gone.” 

Every muscle went completely taught as she stiffened and pushed herself to a sitting position. Aelin had yet to disclose to anyone what the last few years had looked like. Part of it was because she didn’t remember pieces, the other part was the she tried to not think about it at all. 

“I don’t know if I can, Rowan. I don’t…” she let out a long sigh and rubbed her face. “I don’t remember half of it, and the half I do remember I try not to.” 

“There could be answers locked in your head. Answers that we need to help you. To end this.”

“I know. I know but I just…the things I went through in that room, Rowan. Nobody ever should have to go through. Much less live through. When I thought I was going to drown it was a mercy. A mercy. To die would have been such a relief that I was, on some level, willing to give up a life with you and Willow. So maybe that’ll let you imagine what was done to me down there if that’s what I was willing to give up. But I just - right now, right this second? I can’t. Let me mentally prepare. Let me sort through it all and put it in the best order I’m able and then we can talk about it but just…not right now. Okay? Not right this second.”

Rowan was quiet for a moment before he leaned to hover over her and press a soft kiss to her lips, a small nod following soon after before he said, “I need to check your bandages.” He was halfway through swapping out the old gauze for new when she spoke again.

“I want to know what happened while I was gone.” This time, it was Rowan who froze, fingers skittering across her flesh. Aelin licked her lips and looked up at him, shaking her head slightly. “It’s okay, Ro. I don’t blame you. I just want to know what happened. What I missed. Starting from when I went missing.” 

Rowan was quiet for a moment, and then he began to speak, telling her his side of the story from the last several years. The story of coming home to a room that had received a bloodbath, to a home without his wife, to having to figure out how to navigate those waters with and for Willow. To the evidence bringing up nothing, to a few years later everyone wanted the case closed. To everyone they knew insisting that Aelin would have wanted him to move on, to be happy. 

“They were right, you know. I would want you to be happy if I was actually dead,” she’d interjected. He gave her a sharp look that asked how much she truly meant it, but a soft smile told him all he needed to know. He continued on, telling her about the funeral, about dating Lyria, about their courthouse wedding, about Willow through the years. Somewhere between stories of her dance recitals and birthday parties, Aelin drifted off to sleep to the lilting timbre of his voice. Effortlessly he carried to her bed and lay with her, his fingers twisting her golden locks between them until his eyes and limbs became heavy with sleep. Even then, his arms tightened around Aelin, her back flush against his chest as he held her – protected her. 

Nobody would take her from him again. 

~*~

When Rowan woke with the moon hanging high in the sky, he immediately reached for the warm body that should have been in bed next to him. Should have being the operative phrase, because Aelin’s side of the bed was chilled. It sent Rowan into a panic, springing out of bed moving toward the door. The gun he’d laid on his nightstand was in his hand in a second as he slipped through the door and —

Aelin was gripping the back of a chair and standing in front of a full blown conspiracy board.

“Aelin,” he sighed, running a hand down his face and depositing the gun on the table near where she stood. His arms snaked around her body only for her to turn to face him, her lips pressing a soft kiss to his neck.  Rowan’s strong hands ran up her back and embraced her wholly, breathing in the scent of her jasmine shampoo deep enough that it would imprint in his lungs. When he spoke, his voice was  _low_ and raw. “You scared me.” 

“I’m right here, love,” she said tenderly, softly, sweetly. Aelin tilted her head back, lips poised for a kiss that Rowan swiftly answered once, twice, three times before taking her face in his hands. Just as he leaned down to gift her another soft kiss, his eyes noticed the wall behind her. 

“Aelin… What in the ever loving hell are you doing?” 

“Oh. That?” Aelin turned in his arms and shrugged, leaning against his broad chest. 

That was a full blown conspiracy style pin board with tacks shoved into the drywall that would surely leave the tiniest of holes long after they were gone. Covering the wall from her waist up were the photos from various crime scenes as well as numerous people’s photos: Rowan’s included. The bloodbath that had been their bedroom was represented in so many photos that she’d hung them with the edges slightly overlapping, the photos of the bathroom separated by mere inches in a similar style. Slightly further down the wall were photos of the pieces of her skin that bureau had received, photos of Maeve at her trial, photos of Aelin’s grave.

All of the photos taken from the cabin she had been rescued from were there, too, further down the invisible line like she had tried to make sense of it in chronological order. Photos of her gun, her badge, a knife, clothing, even crumbs of bread and metal bowls of stale water. The tank, the discarded lock that Rowan had thrown in a hurry to get her out as well as close up shots of Aelin’s injuries that had been taken while she was unconscious at the hospital. 

In the center of all of it, a foot above everything else was a photo of her, of Rowan, a mugshot of Hamel, Chaol Westfall, Maeve. Extending from the photos were  color-coded tying different people to different crimes or rescues. Chaol shooting Aelin, Rowan rescuing Aelin (multiple times), Maeve and all of her crimes. At the top of everything was a white piece of paper with a blood red question mark on it. The strings from that photo led to every crime on the board, but something didn’t sit right with the golden blonde assessing her work. 

“You’re supposed to be resting,” Rowan finally said, fingers running down her arm until they laced into an elegant knot with hers. Tugging lightly, he took a step backward only for Aelin to look at him with a frown. “You’re going to kill me, woman.” And then she was swooped into Rowan’s arms and being carried to the couch. He sat down with her next to him, wrapping her tightly enough in his arms that she couldn’t budge, but not so tightly that it would hurt her. To his surprise, she didn’t resist. Curling her legs beneath her body, she nuzzled her face into his neck and sighed. Warm tears wet his skin, but they weren’t his own. They were quiet for a moment, holding each other and stealing warmth despite the  _low_ fire that pulsed heat into the room.

“When I pulled you out of that tank and I…for the first time since you’d gone missing, I could breathe, Aelin,” he said softly, tilting her head back so a finger could trace her cupid’s bow from where her head now rest on his chest. She managed to kiss his fingertips before catching his hand in hers and laying their entangled hands on her stomach, attention turning back to the dim blaze. “What happened to you, love?” 

“I tried to fight back.” Aelin’s voice was hoarse and so soft he almost missed what she’d said. “I tried so hard to fight back but I wasn’t ready for the attack to begin with. I didn’t have anything but my hands. He had knives, a gun. He was alone. He’d thrown me into the bathroom at one point and I grabbed your razor from the sink and slashed down his arm. I cut his arm from elbow to wrist, and I dug hard. I wanted it to leave a mark. I wanted him to bleed all over the bathroom and leave some kind of –”

“He did. Forensics found traces of blood in the bathtub drain but it was unidentified. Whoever it was, the blood came back inconclusive. Not Hamel, Maeve, or any of their known lackeys.” Rowan ran a hand down his face then lowered his lips to the top of her head, thinking quietly to himself.  “What happened after that?” 

“I don’t…there aren’t parts I don’t remember, Ro. Parts I have no recollection of. Parts I don’t think I want to have recollection of. I — When I first got taken, it was about fighting. Every day and every night to give whoever that person was hell on earth. And then it just became about staying alive. There were days and nights that the only thing I could do to keep myself from letting go was think about you. About Willow. And when I thought I was going to die, when I saw your face again through that tank as I took my last breath…” Her voice cracked as she trailed off to gather herself before continuing, “I thought that it was finally okay to let go. That it was…some subconscious part of you coming to tell me that it was okay to let go.

“Come to find out, you’d buried me a year earlier,” A laugh, twisted and almost broken fell from her lips as her fingers nearly ripped through golden tresses. “But I somehow feel like I’m trying to claw my way out of the earth, six feet under and screaming but no one can hear me. I’m alive but I’m not. I’ve lost everything but I haven’t.” Aelin’s eyes seemed to glaze over as she focused on the fire, the colors of the flame licking up the chimney, the gold that reflected the core of her iris. Fireheart her mother had called her, Rowan had called her. Powerful, Fiery Spirit, Brave. But how was she powerful if she couldn’t overcome her situation? How was she brave when she’d wished for death so soundly?

“Time didn’t pass the same way. It felt faster and slower all at once. But I — I feel so guilty for it now, Ro, but I just have this suffocating feeling that I could have just let go. I could have stopped fighting and you would have been okay. Everything would have been okay. Willow would have been fine I could have stopped—“ and then she was sobbing so hard it shook Rowan’s entire body and, as tears streamed down his cheeks, he pulled her tighter to him and prayed to every God he could think of to let him shoulder her pain, to bear all of it on his own soul, so that she didn’t have to. 

“There were…horrible things done to me that if I told you the — and there are the things that I did. Rowan I —,” her voice fell to a whisper, so soft he nearly missed it, “unspeakable things.” Aelin’s fingers shook where they touched his skin only to clench into a tight fist. “You know how you used to tell me there was nothing I couldn’t do to make you stop loving me? Nothing I could do to make you turn away?” 

“I vowed whatever end to you. I meant it. I mean it.” 

Aelin shook her head however, shook her head and rose to her feet. With her arms folded over her chest and her brow furrowed, she looked at war with herself as she paced the length of the fireplace. Rowan sat, elbows braced on his knees. She was worrying him, not because he thought that he would ever walk away from her —he knew that he wouldn’t, but because she was scaring him for what she was doing to herself. The turmoil she was in, whatever war she was waging against herself was nothing like he’d ever seen her go through before. Rowan would do anything to ease that pain, to take it away, to skin the bastard alive that had done this to her in the first place. 

“You wouldn’t mean it if you knew.” Aelin’s voice was broken and raw and her hands were dragging through her hair so hard he was certain that he saw golden strands fluttering to the floor in the firelight. There was something…unhinged about her. Even the way she stalked back and forth was less feline like she’d been as an agent. It was like she was a caged animal, rather, caged and starving and losing its mind from lack of food. 

A circus animal kept in a too-small cage. An animal forced to do tricks so that it might be fed and watered, permitted to grow. Tricks to stay alive, to protect its own. Beaten and starved if it didn’t do as it was told, if it didn’t dance when it was told to dance. If it didn’t leap when it was told to leap.

“How was Hamel killed? I was framed for that right? How was he killed?” The pacing stopped and she tucked her thumbnail between her teeth as she looked at Rowan for answers. Answers that he had in the cabin with them. The sound of the zipper cut through the air as he ripped open his bag and tugged out a manilla folder. When he flipped it open and lay it on the table before her, he couldn’t ignore the anxious tap of her fingers on the table.  _Taptaptaptaptap- taptaptaptaptaptap_. 

After an eternity she snagged the photos of the man’s waterlogged and cut throat and walked down the timeline until she jammed a pin through the top of the picture. Back at the table, she snipped two pieces of red string. One she used to make a connection from the knife that had been amongst her belongings at the cabin she’d nearly drowned at. The second she used to connect a photo to Hamel’s bloated body. 

Realization dawned on Rowan’s face the same time that Aelin stepped back, her hands rubbing harshly over her upper arms, nails raking down her skin as though an attempt to get out of her own body. Rowan pushed off of the couch and moved over to the table, eyes moving from one pin to the next. Words were dropping from her lips while her head shook with dizzying intensity - something she kept up until he pulled her to his body to try to ease everything coursing through her mind, her soul. Rowan knew what she was going to say before she said it, felt his stomach lurch into his throat as her lips parted and she looked up at him. 

“It  _was_  me. I killed Arobynn Hamel.”

 


	12. She would not be afraid.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her name was Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galaythnius and she would not be afraid.

It was late. A few hours past midnight and Rowan had finally succeeded in soothing Aelin to sleep after the shocking revelation that had shaken the both of them. Now, he stood in front of the conspiracy board she had so cleverly crafted with pictures and string and handwritten notes that were crumpled and smudged with ink. 

 

Rowan tried to imagine what it was like for his wife to have such thick blank spaces in her mind, massive walls of obsidian that kept her from remembering what had really happened to her. And to think she had  _ killed  _ someone. Rowan knew it had to have been with good reason— Aelin wasn’t a murderer, she was— 

 

A blood curdling scream had him flying to the bedroom. The gun at his side was drawn and pointed as he all but kicked down the door and swept the room but the only threat seemed to be whatever it was that Aelin thought she was seeing or hearing or feeling.  

 

“ROWAN!” Her eyes were wide and wild. The way she was screaming was raw and primal that whatever threat she perceived had to be shaking her to her absolute core. She screamed his name again, the sound inhuman. It was purely animal the way she was screaming for him, the way she was begging the invisible threat to let him go. That she would do anything,  _ anything _ — __

 

“Fireheart,” he said as calm as he could, despite the flame roaring through his veins. Carefully, he placed his gun on the table and approached her, hands out in front of him defensively. “Love, I need you to listen to me. Can you hear me?” 

 

“Rowan?” Broken. Both syllables of his name were broken as she sobbed, and reached blindly in the direction of him. “Did he hurt you? What did he do? I said I would— I said —” she sobbed again when her hands touched his abdomen and her forehead fell to rest on his chest. The way she was speaking told him that she wasn’t here, not really. Aelin was somewhere else entirely, somewhere that he couldn’t pull her out of until she was released from the hold her mind had taken over her.

 

“Tell me what you see, love. Tell me what you hear.” Rowan took her face in his hands gently and tilted her head back to look at her, to really look at her. Devastation and exhaustion was written all over her features, features that were drained of color. Even her eyes— those brilliant Ashryver eyes— seemed dim and almost empty. This nightmare, this hallucination, whatever it was felt entirely like the real thing to her, he realized. “Can you see me?” She nodded, brow furrowing. “Tell me what you see. What you hear. And what you feel.”

 

“It’s cold. Sometimes it’s so hot that I can’t breathe but today it’s— can’t you feel how cold it is? I feel like I’m going to freeze to death,” her voice was barely a whisper, eyes following the trail of something Rowan could not see. Where he touched her arms, her hands, she was clammy. Her skin was cold and damp like her body was struggling to regulate itself. 

 

“The floor—”

 

“What kind of floor?” He hadn’t meant to cut her off but it could be important information.

 

“It’s concrete. It’s— I— it’s all concrete. You don’t see it?” Not as important as he would have liked, but she could believe that she was in the room he found her in. She was frowning again as her glassed-over eyes scanned the room, scanned what she knew to be hard and damp concrete when in reality she was kneeling on a soft mattress in the middle of their cabin in the woods. “It’s—”

 

But then she stopped talking and froze up completely, screamed Rowan’s name like she was about to lose him so he did the only thing he could think of that might possibly ground her. He grabbed her face and kissed her— a slow and sweet kiss that had her tight muscles melting under his touch. 

 

“I’ve got you, love. I’m here. We’re okay.”

 

“We’re— I’m going crazy,” she breathed, pressing her face into his neck and squeezing her eyes shut. A sob shuddered through her body. “I’m going out of my mind. I’m going absolutely insane and you were there Rowan, you were there but you weren’t there and I wasn’t here but I was here. What happens if I get stuck in the inbetween? What happens if I lose myself completely and can’t see my way out and you’re not around to pull me out of it? What happens then?”

 

Rowan didn’t have an answer, and he hated it. Hated that his wife, his love, was going through such unimaginable things. Hated that being pulled out of the tank seemed to be just the beginning when it came to her story and he so desperately wanted to just end it but he didn’t know how. There were no leads on who was doing this to her, every time she tried to remember a face it as just blank. There was nothing there, as if he had sawed his way into her memory and taken the most pertinent pieces that would lead to her innocence, that would lead to her being completely and truly free. 

  
  


~*~

 

It was a very specific fear to be scared of your own mind. To be trapped inside the cage that was your head, to not be able to escape the pain. She was a faerie trapped in an iron box, a prisoner in shackles. It was even worse when there were holes of time you couldn’t make up, holes of time where you had apparently  _ murdered  _ people, and not be able to remember even a second of it. 

  
Over and over she found herself asking how she would ever come back from this. How she could ever step out of the darkness, how she could ever bathe in sunlight when she was covered in layers of oil and grime from years in captivity. Tonight had only proved it, that she would wake to unspeakable things, that she should remember unspeakable things and feel them so vividly as if she were still locked twenty feet underground in a cement hole. 

 

How could she ever trust herself around Willow? How would she know that she wouldn’t hurt her if they slept in the same bed or napped on the couch? How could she ever trust herself to be a good mother when PTSD wrecked her so hard on a daily basis? That she tried to fight her own husband on occasion because she couldn’t tell fiction from reality? 

 

Aelin nuzzled her face into Rowan’s chest, breathing in the familiar scent of pine and snow, breathed him in until it grounded her where she lay in his arms. 

 

Her name was Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius.  They were in a cabin in the woods. Not unlike the cabin she had been kept in where she had been tortured and nearly drowned to death until Rowan had pulled her out. 

 

Aelin thrashed once in Rowan’s arms and his grip immediately tightened around her.

 

She was in a cement room, locked inside a tank. She had murdered at least one person. She was drowning in a tank. She had murdered a man. Blood, bright and sticky on her hands, smeared along the concrete— 

 

No. No. She was in a cabin. In the woods. With Rowan. Deep breath. In through her nose, out through her mouth. In through the nose and out through the mouth. Deep breath.

 

Her name was Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius. They were in a wood cabin in the woods just past the border of Terrasen and Adarlan. Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius was her husband. They had a daughter named Willow, who was the perfect mixture of the two of them. 

 

Her name was Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius and she would not be afraid. 

 

~*~

 

Nightmare after nightmare seemed to plague Aelin for the first two hours of sleep until she finally seemed to fall into a deeper state that allowed Rowan to relax. Half the night she thrashed in his arms, only for him to tighten his grip. He would not allow anything to hurt or harm her under his watch ever again. Not even her dreams. 

 

So when she whimpered and shook, he held her tighter, he kissed her brow, he whispered long forgotten songs into her ear that she loved so much until finally, hours later, she fell into a restful sleep. He knew because that damned wrinkle between her eyes was softened— not gone, but softened like it never was when she was awake these days. The wrinkles of her forehead weren’t present, she wasn’t frowning. The curve of her lips was almost happy, and he couldn’t help but press the softest of kisses to her mouth with an effort not to wake her. 

 

He failed, because her eyes fluttered until they opened, but she smiled and tilted her head back slightly in request for another kiss that he was more than willing to give her. When he pulled back she rubbed her eyes sleepily and turned to glance at the clock on the nightstand. 

 

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” Her voice was gravelly, if a bit raw from screaming so much earlier. Rowan shifted and grabbed the last bottle of water from his side of the bed and handed it to her. She drank it all in almost one go. 

 

“I need to go into town for more supplies. I was going to wait until you woke up.” 

 

“You can go now. I’ll be okay,” she said, tucking her hands beneath her head and looking up at him with tired eyes. Rowan reached out and trailed his finger down the bridge of her nose, over the shape of her lip. When she caught it with her teeth, the laugh that he huffed out was involuntary. 

 

“I don’t want to leave you.”  _ While your nightmares are so horrible  _ was what he didn’t have to say, she likely knew it was what he meant. But she shrugged, waved a hand dismissively, and leaned forward to kiss him again. 

 

“I’ll be fine for a few hours,” she whispered against his lips. “And I will prove how good I am when you get back.” Desire spread through him and he kissed her again, deepening it by sweeping his tongue into her mouth and rolling on top of her but she shoved him off with a loud cackle. “I said when you get  _ back _ you horny asshole.”

 

Rowan chuckled and pressed a soft kiss to the base of her throat before he got out of bed. It was early morning, and with the mist shrouding the woods he knew it would be a little chilly so he dressed to be warm, ending his ensemble with a beanie tugged low over his ears. Before he left, he leaned down to kiss her again but found her already sleeping, and instead left a kiss on her forehead, silently praying that good dreams would keep her safe until he returned. 

 

~*~

 

Being an hour away from the cabin while in town had started to drive him crazy, but they had been low on food and Aelin had guzzled the last bottle of water so supplies had been a desperate need. While down in the little village, Rowan grabbed food and water, first aid supplies, and even a few different changes of clothes and undergarments in the likelihood that they would need to do laundry at some point, but he didn’t want to have to spend money they didn’t need to at a laundromat. Rowan had hopes of getting her name cleared and taking her home before they became that desperate. 

 

Almost as soon as he drove through the clearing of trees he could tell something was wrong. 

 

Before he even had the car stopped he noticed the front door cracked open, knowing that Aelin wasn’t dumb enough to leave it open even if she just wanted fresh air. Open doors were easier to sneak into than closed ones, and regardless of  _ why  _ it was open now had ice freezing Rowan’s veins until his blood stopped pumping. 

 

He didn’t bother turning the car off, just threw it in park and ran inside. The fallen pine needles had him slipping on the terrain but he didn’t let it slow him down too much even when he nearly crashed onto the ground. A gun in each hand, he cleared the first room before bursting into the bedroom. Relief and fear flooded him all at once. 

 

For standing at the foot of the bed was Aelin, covered in blood and silent tears with a shaky gun pointed at Fenrys Moonbeam. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for holding out with me!
> 
> If you don't follow me on tumblr, then you wouldn't know how insane my life has been lately. Back in August, I got so sick I almost died. September and October were major recovery months for me, despite the drabbles that I posted here and there. November was a really really difficult month for me, rounding out in my car getting stolen the last week of the month. It's been a struggle, and I've had so many major things happening to stress me out, on top of my mental health being absolutely horrible. 
> 
> If you've been patient, thank you so much. I appreciate you and your comments more than you know. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed, and don't worry. The next one is coming at you soon.   
> xo  
> em


	13. it's not a request.

From the second she heard the door open, her hand reached for the gun she knew lay on the nightstand, then disappeared back under her pillow. Thought it was likely it was just Rowan, she couldn’t be too careful and she had learned that the hard way. **  
**

Like the time she thought it was Rowan and spent a handful of minutes fighting for her life only to be taken and tortured for seven years.

A heavy body dropped onto the bed beside her and she knew two things immediately: the first was that it definitely wasn’t Rowan. Never had he ever woken her up like that in their entire relationship. The second was that she didn’t have time to think up another plan, because with such a rude awakening anyone would be immediately awake and complaining. So instead of taking even a second to consider her options, she whipped her hand from beneath the pillow and slammed it into the face of whoever took up Rowan’s place in bed. 

A voice she recognized swore and, because she couldn’t trust anybody right now, she scrambled to get out of bed, and about halfway through the notion she realized just how injured she still was. The immediate and quick movement sent a sharp, searing pain to the wound that was barely beginning to heal in her side and having overshot the distance to get out of bed, she slammed to the floor. Aelin had no control over the series of curses that spilled from her mouth and instead pushed herself to her feet. One hand went to the wound, the other rose to point a gun at the trespasser. 

Fenrys Moonbeam rolled off the bed and moved around to stand in front of her, one hand raised in surrender and the other raised to his temple. 

“I thought you were supposed to be crippled.  _Shit_. Not to mention, weren’t you a hell of a lot more mellow?” It was then that he opened his eyes to look at her and his eyes widened at her appearance. 

Risking a moment, Aelin shifted her gaze from his bleeding temple to the too-warm and suddenly damp spot at her side and she groaned. Blood was soaking through the white shirt that she wore and just as she looked back up to Fenrys to grill him to find if he could be trusted or not, the front door slammed into the wall and footsteps were pounding through the cabin. Fenrys mumbled another swear word, likely knowing that Rowan was going to kick his ass when he found the compromising position the two were in. This was going to be worse than any prank Aelin and Fenrys had ever played on him, because in none of those pranks did it look like Fenrys was responsible for stabbing the life out of his wife. This reality, however,  _did_. 

“What the fuck is going on here?” 

“Before you go getting all stabby or shooty, she did that to herself. I merely sat down in bed—”

“I would not classify what you did as _sitting down in bed,_ ” Aelin hissed, but it was hard to keep her lips from tugging up at the corners. She had hardly seen the golden brother since her return, and until five minutes ago, had missed him. 

“—and she freaked out and fell out of bed. I’m not sure what happened while she was on the floor.”

“She has a two-inch stab wound held together with  _string_ , you moron,” Rowan shoved him out of the way and made for Aelin, “and you’re just letting her stand here?”

“You broke the godsdamn door in before I could help her!” This time, Aelin did smile, and nodded slightly to tell Rowan it was the truth. It didn’t help the situation at all, Rowan still carefully deposited her back onto the bed and raised her shirt and began quick work of inspecting her wound to figure out how bad she had managed to hurt herself. 

It was pretty bad, apparently, because he gave her a look sharp enough to deepen the wound altogether. Aelin merely shrugged.

~*~ 

After a very loud, very heated discussion, it was determined that Fenrys was no more a threat to Aelin than Rowan was. Fenrys and Aelin had always shared a special bond, the kind that best friends do where they would lay everything down for the other. It was a deep, but purely platonic, love that could not be wavered. Even by an assumed death, or a gash to the temple. 

It was halfway through that discussion when the conversation had turned from Fenrys to Aelin. Aelin, who was sitting at the table across from her conspiracy board and staring intently at the strings and blurred letters that she could hardly decipher, but it had been pertinent to get it all down while she was remembering things so freshly. 

“I want you to take me back to the cabin,” she had said, referring to the cabin she’d been found in, ignoring the shouting between Rowan and Fenrys, not particularly caring if they were listening. She had hardly noticed when they stopped yelling at each other and spun to look at her like she was absolutely out of her mind. 

Maybe she was. Maybe she was losing it, or had already lost it, or maybe since being pulled out of that tank in a cement basement she’d never really had it together at all. 

“ _Absolutely_   _not_ ,” Rowan said flatly, his voice an icy chill down her spine that didn’t register as much as it should have. 

“It’s not a request.” Where Rowan was all ice, Aelin was all fire. His ears burned at her words and they made his mouth dry with ash. Taking her back to the cabin was a huge risk and one he wasn’t so sure he was willing to take. Was anything worth risking her safety? Was it worth the risk of her getting arrested? Or taken from him in any capacity? “You can take me yourself or I can turn myself in under the single condition they take me there first.” The golden core of her eyes seared into him, burning holes where his eyes ought to be. Damn her. 

The answer was a huge and resounding no, one he didn’t have to even think about. But there was also no getting around her demand. When Aelin wanted something she got it by any means necessary. He knew that her threat to go by police or taxi were not empty, and at least if he was with her he might have some sort of control on the situation. 

It was how the three of them ended up in the Jeep Fenrys had driven in on the way to the place that Aelin had been found.

~*~

Nothing. 

There was absolutely  _nothing_  that told her a single damn thing about the person that had kidnapped and kept her hostage here. There was nothing on the walls, nothing in the now-empty tank, nothing washed halfway down a drain that told her anything of what happened here.

The things she couldn’t remember were still forgotten, the words and images choked down somewhere between her throat and stomach dying to get out with no release. There was still an empty space where a face should have been in her mind of the person that had brought her food or water or had beaten her until she was bruised and bloody and resembled little more than bleeding pulp. 

The only clues left behind were the drops of blood that had been processed by the bureau weeks ago upon her discovery, all of which had apparently belonged to Aelin. 

It was frustrating to say the least, that the only place she could remember being harbored no leads, no information. There was nothing here that wasn’t in her head. The only difference was that her hands were shaking harder than they did when she woke from her dreams. 

In an attempt to calm herself, to ground herself somewhere to the world, she rest her forehead against the cold, concrete wall and closed her eyes. One of her hands had her fingers splayed wide against the wall and the other was soon encapsulated by Rowan’s warm fingers that seemed to thaw her out and bring her down from whatever panic was trying to claw its way out. 

His touch reminded her that there was a door behind them, with stairs that led up and out. She was not trapped here. Nothing was keeping her here. Nothing could keep her with Rowan and Fenrys behind her. Rowan’s broad hand on her lower back had her lifting her head to look at him and she merely shook her head once. 

“There’s nothing here.” There was a resigned sigh in her voice, and Rowan leaned forehead to rest his forehead against her temple, nose grazing the side of her face, her jaw. Lips pressed beneath her ear, to her hair. “I needed to find something here.” 

But she didn’t. So when Rowan tugged on her fingers to lead her away, she let him. 

~*~

They thought she was sleeping. Aelin, with her head in Rowan’s lap in the back seat while Fenrys drove back toward their cabin and his fingers scratching at her scalp to soothe her. Eyes closed, her mind was wide awake so when Fenrys explained to Rowan that Lorcan was wavering in her innocence, she heard everything. 

Knowing she had never been his favorite person was one thing, but the fact that Lorcan was open to the idea that she was a murderer, had potentially kidnapped herself and was a danger to society was another thing entirely. Aelin couldn’t believe that anyone who knew her on such a personal level would ever even contemplate that she would leave Willow and Rowan behind. 

Willow. Her heart ached with a ferocity she was becoming all too familiar with. With every beat she felt like she was losing the life in her, the irony being that she had just gotten it back. But for how long? She was running out of time. She was a fugitive. Rowan was breaking so many different laws. Fenrys was breaking dozens of them. Everyone putting everything at risk for her and she couldn’t stand it. What would come of Willow, growing up in a world where her mother was a murderer? Where her mother was crazy? 

After what felt like ages, they pulled into a diner. It wasn’t quite in the middle of nowhere, but not in the hub of the city. It was somewhere they had brought Willow to when she was young, but not the same place Rowan had met Lyria. After Rowan mussed her hair and tugged a hat over her head, she wasn’t quite as recognizable. Aelin still lacked color in her face from the injury she bore, and with sunglasses on her nose to hide her brilliant blue eyes there wasn’t anything extraordinary about her.

Upon entering, they sat in a booth near a window. Aelin’s stomach grumbling so loudly it was almost comical. It was a risk, stopping to eat, but after Aelin’s constant insistence Rowan gave up and told Fenrys to pull off at the next stop. 

“Chocolate pancakes with strawberries, please,” she requested, handing off her menu before turning to lean into Rowan’s side. On the other side of the booth, Fenrys watched her closely. 

“You’ve looked better, I gotta say,” he drawled, eliciting a short from the golden blonde. Aelin didn’t have to look at Rowan to see his eye roll. She could feel it. 

“That bruise looks lovely on your face,” she crooned back, burrowing cold fingers beneath Rowan’s shirt. Fenrys laughed then earned a glare from Rowan that silently told him to keep it down. 

Their midnight dinner went smoothly, no hiccups, no police being called on the most wanted criminal in the country. It wasn’t until they were leaving, when her shoulder crashed with another set of broad ones that she was recognized. 

“Laena?” 

Something in her head throbbed, the nickname jerking her back several decades while she looked up into the too-handsome face of Archer Finn. 

 _Laena_. The nickname gifted to her at the orphanage she stayed in for the year before the government managed to locate her Ashryver family, before they could get the adoption details in order. 

“I’m sorry,” Rowan said. “I think you have the wrong person.” He guided her back to the car, but she couldn’t stop the glances she sent over her shoulder. 

Faces of two young boys that she had played with, long since forgotten and buried under a mental suppression so black she had forgotten they existed at all. 

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